Our lack of ridiculous misadventures managed to quickly catch up to us.
- We had to walk home from a friends hostel, in the pitch black, in a town that doesn´t believe in electricity past 9 pm. We walked into several bushes, a ditch, a dog house and a barbed wire fence. Erin also managed to crush her toes on every rock along the way.
- I burned Erin´s hair off with a candle. In all fairness, I was trying to save her as she was tripping (which is a hobby of Erin´s). I, however, managed instead to push her further into a cave crevice while burning her some new bangs.
- This is quite possibly the best of our misadventures . . . . In attempt to enjoy the sunset, we invited our British friend Joe out for a little evening paddle. Being on the Carribean coast, he had this incessent need to say, "Mon," in every possible context, whilst wearing a rasta hat. We sat in the canoe, Joe said, "Alright, mon," and we were off. We decided to paddle out to an anchored boat, to pirate it and demand a beer, or at least some tea and crumpets. We never actually managed to go in a straight line, with everyone rowing haphazardly on different sides. Joe and Erin, being the front and back seats, decided instead it would be better to have a water fight. I sat in the middle cursing them both as they splashed each other, managing to wet mostly me. After I was completely drenched, and had sufficiently cursed them both, the boat (surprise!) had managed to fill with water. I began scooping it out when a man rode by on his motor boat. He asked if we needed help, to which Erin quietly said no and laughed, and Joe said, "No, mon." I, instead, asked for something to get the water that had filled 1/3 of the boat. The guy threw us a jar and I began to save us. However . . . in this saving process, I was leaning left, Joe was overcorrecting and rocking every which way, Erin was reprimanding the both of us while Boat Man kept saying, "Don move, ya gonna sink de boat." Sure enough, we did. During one of Joe´s overcorrections, water came streaming in, and the boat went down. We all started laughing histerically, choking on the water as the boat went down like the Titanic. Joe frantically attempted to stay above water, fearing for his pink and blue rasta hat. Boat Man rolled his eyes and scolded us, as our laughter turned into the silent, gurgly giggles. In exasperation he finally said, "Do you want me to save you or what?" We did. He did. He was able to grap the last inch of visible canoe, and tie it to his boat. We were still laughing as he lectured us on boat safety. When we pulled up to the hostel, in a motor boat with the canoe dragging behind, drenched in our jeans, the hostel owner was very curious. Joe told him that we had just gotten tired after rowing so hard, and the nice Boat Man offered us a lift. Joe then turned to us and said, "I don´t usually get the hysterics like that, mon."
We got incredibly side tracked in our trek back to Mexico. We missed the shuttle for the Mexican coast, so instead thought we would try getting there via Belize. On a bus for the capital city, we ran into friends, rasta imposta Joe being one of them, who convinced us to make the trek to their destination - an island off the coast. We stayed two days on the island, ate excellent fish, caught up on the Olympics, snorkled in some fishless, brown grass, and sunk a canoe. After adding to our collection of bed bugs and tan lines, we booked it up the coast to meet Erin´s parents, who happen to be travelling around Cancun. For our last day, we lived it up in style. An air conditioned house, pina coladas, snorkeling in fish infested, brown-grass-free water, cruising in a golf cart and hanging out with baby turtles. Had Erin and I been on our own that last day, we would likely have been drinking bad, cheap beer and playing Go Fish. All day. Thank you Mother and Fater Schulz for seeing us out in style.
Erin has already left me for her flight, and I am once again alone in Cancun, waiting and sweating. Waiting and sweating with my bad Spanish. Trying to say, " I am very hungry, " came out as, "I have many men."
And speaking of men . . . Erin and I have been amazed at the amount of cat calls we have gotten on the street. We are happy to note it has been more than just whistles, kissy faces and hissing noises. Here are some of our favorites.
"I lo you baby."
"What happened baby?"
But the best of all was on Belize Island, when a man barked at us. Oh how we will miss these men.