Vacation in the Yucatan

I just got back from Mexico. In my head I'm still there. Right about....

there. No seriously, I'm about ready to trade some winter coats for a one-way flight to Cancun. Anyone?

Anybody that knows me knows that I can't tell a story without at least one back story, which inevitably leads me down another back story, which... it's pretty bad. Used to be worse. I honestly try to keep it to a minimum, but sometimes context is just necessary, you know? Ok, so the story is that the company I work for gave everyone (+ guest) who had been there at least 1 year a free (yep, free, as in no paying for food, flight, lodging, alcohol, etc) trip to southern Mexico. We thought last year was the last year this trip would be offered, but we got surprised, ergo Thursday morning me, coworkers, and guest Erica (high school friend that visited Colorado earlier this year) leave the ground from DIA and touch down a few hours later in warm, humid Cancun.

The resort we stayed at was about 30 minutes south of Cancun between Puerto Morelos and Playa del Carmen, right on the beach. And speaking of, immediately after checking in, Erica and I headed to the beach to discover water so warm you could just about bathe in it. That would have to wait until tomorrow though. We had some (still free) drinks, ate at the buffet with the entire group, and then made our way to a bizarre Star Wars themed disco for some dancing. After dancing and (apparently one too many) drinks, Erica and I somehow turned a 10 minute walk back to our room into a 30 minute trek... all the resorts looked the same, not to mention we found a wooden horse to climb. Ahh well.

Friday morning we ventured outside the still-in-America resort south to Tulum for some Mayan ruins discovery. [We ventured twice, and in my opinion, these were the hidden gems of the trip.] Darren, Jenny, Chuck, Erica and I decided to take the bus/shuttle instead of a taxi for the added authenticity (and the drastic cost difference), so we found ourselves playing the classic Mexican sport of "run across the highway" which I couldn't stop laughing about. The fact that high-speed car dodging was completely normal for everyone else around us caught me off guard. We paid $2 for the ride to Playa del Carmen and then paid $3 for the ride to Tulum. For those of you not paying attention, only $5 for a 100km shuttle ride is amazing. The Tulum ruins were very interesting, and if I go back I'll get a Mayan guide to give me the full story. We decided instead to take the quick tour and hit the beach. The Tulum beach was fantastic with perfect white sand, coconut trees, turquoise water so clear you could see your feet in 4 feet of water. I had also read that the limestone cliffs offered decent bouldering, so I brought my shoes and enjoyed a little climbing. After we had our fill, we caught the shuttle back north to Playa del Carmen. We walked around in Playa del for a while and found ourselves intentionally avoiding the ultra-touristy tienda-bloated areas, ultimately deciding to eat a late lunch at a restaurant where (I was accused of being Italian for the second time that day, and) the omnipresence of English thinned out. I sat at the head of the table and was more or less the spokesperson for the table, so it was fun to practice my broken Spanish with Mexicans whose English was just as broken. The salsa was spicy, both the people-watching and food were good, and both the immense relaxation and cultural charm of Mexico were unavoidable. Tired from the day's adventure, we made our way back to the resort for dinner (sushi / habachi grill) , drinks, and a bit of dancing. Sleep that night came easy.

Saturday after another buffet breakfast we headed towards the beach where high winds denied us the opportunity to get in some sea kayaking or sailing. We played basketball in the chilly pool instead, then did as close to nothing as was possible until having an early dinner. Skipping the company dinner at 8:30, Darren, Jenny, Erica and I made our way via bus back to Playa del. This time we stayed close to 5th Avenue and did a bit of shopping. Erica seemed to come out best, bargaining her way from $120 to $55 for a handmade depiction of the Piedra del Sol. We sat for a while in front of a coffee shop with drinks watching people pass by. By this point I think I had actually forgotten the definition of "worry." On our way back to the bus, we stopped in an art studio called Sacbe, where we spoke with the gallery's director for about 45 minutes. He couldn't have been nicer, describing some of the artwork, telling of his experiences collecting the art for the gallery, and conveying a great love of his country's culture which I simply couldn't relate to. [Don't get me wrong; I love bluegrass, football, microbrews and the occasional hamburger, but this was different.] He recommended 4 cities near Mexico City to visit which I'll hopefully get to sometime in the future. I was awestruck by the peyote-inspired bead sculptures and yarn paintings of the Huicholes. When we got back on the bus (side story: a guy in line for the bus laughed at us like we were crazy when we our response to his asking why we didn't take a cab was that the bus was more fun), I began to realize that tomorrow I'd be back in Denver with bills to pay and work to do... just as I was starting to get the hang of vacation.

Sunday we woke to our first sunny morning. Given that we had little time left, we ate a quick breakfast and headed to the beach for some body surfing in 3 foot waves. Carmen, our towel distributor, remembered Erica and I from the yesterday and welcomed us for our last day. 2 hours later we had packed up and checked out. Erica and I nearly missed the bus, which I honestly would have preferred, since our plane was delayed anyways. It was sunny and 85*F as we watched Cancun disappear. When we landed in Denver it was -15*F. While that sinks in, I'll just say that a 100 degree change is a very rude awakening, and I hope to God that I never have that happen to me again. As the engine cut out on the Jeep while I brushed the windshield, I found myself very jealous of Carmen. I honestly went through withdrawal and depression on my first day back to work. It was a weird feeling because I'm usually so happy to be back in Colorado, no matter where I'm coming from, but this was tough.

The entire Riviera Maya coastline seems like a place where you could just sort of disappear into and wake up one day realizing it was 3 years later and you'd never left. Maybe I'll do that if I get the cojones to... This trip felt like my first vacation in years, and really was if you think of vacation as more than just taking a couple days off work and staying close to home. I haven't traveled much since I moved to Texas in 2004 except for work or to be home for the holidays, so this trip was short but very sweet. It reminded me how much I love travel. Note to self: update mental bride search criteria to include "love of travel" as a high-priority must-have.

Evidence: http://flickr.com/photos/brett_burch/sets/72157611313529820/

in pursuit of the gifts we might receive

We've all seen some crazy adrenaline junkie huck off a 70 foot cliff and then later tell the cameraman the line wasn't steep enough, or that the adventures available in the lower 48 no longer satisfy some urge they have. These people sound (and might actually be) insane, but I think I agree to a certain degree with those who are constantly in pursuit of the next biggest challenge... but not exactly in the same way.

I have been thinking recently about what it is that causes me to get immense satisfaction from something that seems painful and/or dangerous. Not only that, but why would I pursue a difficult route to a mountain summit when there is an easier way available to get to the same endpoint? (You may also question the reasoning behind hiking up/underestimating Mt. Evans recently especially after having driven up several times and therefore in theory having nothing new to accomplish.) It seems the reward increases as the pain or danger does, however I don't think that's because I lose my contentment with what has been already achieved, as is often stated by the adrenaline junkie. I think the cause instead is a greater understanding of (and a need for) the bounty. It is as if I am parched for whatever that sensation or emotion is, and the only way to quench the thirst is to go asking for more from whatever sport I am in pursuit of, in hopes of the sport yielding some of its gifts to me. This might sound blasphemous, but it is almost a religious pursuit. The joy is almost the same.

Maybe an example would help. I've been bouldering indoors quite frequently for the last year or so (after having taken many years off) and have been increasingly recognizing said pursuit and its rewards as my climbing progresses. Recently I feel like I've been able to read the routes easier, climb harder and/or longer problems without tiring, suppress the fear of going for a big move high off the floor, and ultimately feel the bliss of finishing a problem I couldn't have finished a while ago. Seeing the light, or hearing the tuning fork more clearly, you know? It seems like I have developed a keener eye for a problem with beautiful movement, which makes me pursue it that much more. It sounds crazy but it feels really good to reach for a tiny crimp or painful sloper and hang there while you move your feet in preparation for the next move, then again, and again, etc. until you get to the top and your arms are completely fried. It's as if the pain/work/burn is in actuality relaxing and comforting. I'm not a good runner, but this might be compared to runner's high. The same could also be said for riding a new mountain bike trail and being able to read the terrain to know when you really need to go all out on a steep section, know which gear to be in at all times, or pick the most appealing line through that gnarly rock garden. Maybe it sounds like a pious recognition of progress made, but it's more than that. I'm just not sure exactly what "it" is but it seems to be an addiction.

In Seven Years In Tibet, Heinrich Harrer (Brad Pitt) explains to the Dalai Lama what he loves about mountaineering:

The absolute simplicity. That's what I love. When you're climbing your mind is clear and free from all confusions. You have focus. And suddenly the light becomes sharper, the sounds are richer and you're filled with the deep, powerful presence of life.

Maybe "it" in his case is simply, as the book is titled, The Freedom of the Hills.

Whether the sport is skiing, climbing, riding, or anything else, hopefully you find the same thing and passionately pursue the gifts.