Um, what? You want me to get out on the side of a highway and sit on a bus bench to wait for a new tour guide? Suddenly my khaki-shorted pair didn’t seem so scary.
“No,” I declared in the firmest voice I could muster. “We don’t want to be left alone. You will need to wait for the tour guide with us or take us back to the resort.”
“Your tour guide is running very late today so he asked me to pick you up. He’ll be here soon. We can wait with you.”
Would have been nice to know, I probably would have rather waited for him at the resort but sure.
Eventually, a white and teal-clothed gentleman arrived in a marked van for our tour. And I released all of the nightmare endings in a massive exhale. And there was another couple in the van already, an Asian couple who didn’t speak any English, and only a couple words of Spanish, we tried...
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of our troubles on this adventure.
The day continued with a two-hour drive to Coba, an ancient city of the Mayan culture that was the hub of commerce. Technically larger than Chichen Itza and free to roam and climb as you wish, it was significantly less crowded. We rented bicycles and our guide cautioned us that they had “Mayan brakes,” meaning they didn’t work at all. Plus it was pouring down rain. The guide shared so many amazing stories about the sports stadium, the homes, the granary, the town square. I’ll never forget learning that the winners of the no-longer-played sport “got to” sever their own genitalia as an offering to the gods.
Like many indigenous people of the time, pyramids were common and we got to climb the tallest one in the region. But unlike in the United States where everything would have safety signs and operators on hand, there was no railing, no safety anything. It was a little precarious, but we made it to the top and used a rope to climb down. So magical to be above the tree line of an endless jungle, to look out and see nothing but treetops.
After working up an appetite, we returned our bikes and drove to a little “restaurant” along the side of the road. After climbing and biking all morning we wanted to wash our hands before eating which was impossible because there was no sink in the entire building, not even in the “bathrooms,” which were holes in the floor like a port-a-potty.
Our guide explained that this was a buffet lunch, but that he liked the tomatoes. Just the tomatoes? Yep, he salted tomatoes and that’s all he put on his plate, sliced tomatoes.
If you know me at all, then you know I am a picky eater and texture matters.
As we rounded the buffet table peering at the unlabeled dishes, I began peppering my partner with questions: Is that hot? Is it cold? Is that cheese? Is that mayonnaise-based? What is that meat? Is that mold on the noodles?
He still teases me. But yes, we did get severe indigestion a few hours later.
But before our diarrheal doom, we had four more hours of adventure.