Tuesday we made our way to Mexico. Up at 3 am to get to the airport by 5:30, fly out at 7:30. We landed in Cancun and our adventure began.
Our first destination is Chichen Itza- a place where I’m so open for transformation, I feel giddy and alive. I’m already shaking with vibrations! I’ve been on this journey, this amazing, incredible hard-ass journey for awhile now. Years, really. As an artist, I can feel how all that I’m healing and learning is shifting my writing. I’m thrilled.
But to get here yesterday- we had to take a bus to downtown Cancun. (guidebooks can be full o shit- there was no direct bus to here) In downtown Cancun we bought a bag of gorditos, two Mexican Cokes and got a bus to Piste. FOUR AND A HALF HOURS. yup.
But…as we stopped in every tiny little town, every roadside check point to pick up folks getting off work, people selling panuchos and candy, teenagers who made out in the backseat, old women with children, men who were finally relaxing, I saw a part of Mexico, this Yucatan area that I would not have seen if we hit that fast first class and just whizzed on over here.
The need for calming forces came just as we were heading into Piste, though. We drove past the hotel which pricked at some panic. I was thinking the driver already knew we needed to stop there, but we had failed to tell him the hotel. We said Chichen Itza, so he drove 7 km farther to the town of Piste. And it was raining. Pouring. Sheets of rain. Panic grew. I complained to Peter that would never get a cab. How the hell would we get back to our hotel. He’s gonna drop us off in the middle of that tinyass town and then what? I wasn’t walking 7 km in the freakin rain dragging my suitcase. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Peter calmly told me baby don’t worry. It will be alright.
We got dropped off. In the middle of a tinyass town. In the pouring rain. As Peter got our luggage out from luggage compartment on the side of bus, the bus driver stood on the steps to avoid getting wet and waved to me…like, what are you standing there looking at me for? Go now. I tried to ask him for a taxi. Did I mention I don’t speak Spanish?? But my loving, now drenched husband does. I ran to the entry of a market with my suitcase. I dug out my raincoat,my umbrella, and continued cussing. The bus drove away. And across the street, next to a bus going in the opposite direction, was Peter, talking fast to the driver. He hollers to me Baby it’s okay!
He runs to me, grabs his suitcase and backpack. I grab my bag, camera case and suitcase and follow him across the street.
I didn’t stop to look for traffic. I realized that much later that I just ran out into the street and didn’t even look. Obviously I was okay. I was just wet. Big deal. I may think I’m sweet at times but I sure as hell don’t melt! lol!
But once we got dropped off at our hotel, looking like a couple of drowned alley cats, we made our way to our bungalow.
Then, though, we found out we missed the restaurant by about 5 minutes. Kitchen closed. We had KIND bars from traveling. And water. And gum. And breath mints. If that was my dinner I was going to cry. But Peter, again, my calming hero, went to the kitchen and asked them for anything.
Bliss came bout 10 minutes later when we sat on the beautiful patio, eating hot ham and cheese sandwiches on bread that tastes like my grandmas, and sipping ice cold Sol beer.
So, the Toast for Tuesday goes to Calming Forces, like Peter, my hus-b.
Happy Anniversary, Baby.
Peace
Stacey Parshall Jensen Sensitivity Reader-Diversity Editor-Cultural Consultant 