GETTING IN
4:20am in San Ignacio and I was getting ready to scamper out onto the main highway (conveniently right outside my hostel) to catch what I hoped was a direct bus to the Mexican border. As I was doing one last belongings check by the front door, another guy trundled into reception with his backpacks and, excited about the possibility of having a travel buddy to cross the border with, I asked: “Are you also catching the 4:30 bus to Mexico?” To which this extremely German dude replied: “But… it is already 4:30! It is now impossible to get this bus!” This encounter has nothing at all to do with the journey that followed, I just found him incredibly irksome, oblivious to how time works in Central America – it wasn’t yet 4:30 anyway – and to top it all off, he ended up following me to the bus stop where we waited 30 minutes for the vehicle to actually materialise with him being annoyingly pedantic the entire time. Not a fun start to the day. (Luckily, he got off at Belize City and I didn’t have to say another word to him after embarking!)
This turned out to be a dreaded, noisy af chicken bus – deafening even at this obscenely early hour. Moreover, I couldn’t make heads or tails of the conductor’s accent when I got on board. It was clear that we were not going all the way to Mexico, but I was unable to ascertain exactly where we were heading. Still bleary-eyed and in no mood to prolong communication, I decided I’d go along for the ride, see where I ended up, and figure things out from there. We passed through many a town – most of them tiny and very Christian – including the capital, Belmopan (population: 20,000), before arriving in Belize City about two-and-a-half hours later. Luckily, the conductor had my back and shepherded me onto a second chicken bus heading to Corozal, 20 minutes from Mexico. Another two-and-a-half hour ride through predominantly rural Belize left me with the feeling that I should one day return and explore this country more thoroughly, but getting dropped off in Corozal nearly reversed that feeling: I was swarmed by taxi drivers determined to ferry me to the border at extortionate price. I had no mobile data in the country, and despite asking the bus driver for directions, I couldn’t make sense of his instructions (a running theme, sadly, which is all on me). Thus, I was overwhelmed by the chaos, confused by my location, and very nearly inclined to pay the $30 that was being demanded of me from all and sundry. Luckily, a Belizean lady who was witnessing this madness intervened on my behalf and pointed out that there was a local colectivo a mere two-minute walk away that would take me to the border for $3. Needless to say, the taxi drivers were infuriated with her, while I gave her all the blessings I didn’t even know I had within me.
Belize -> Mexico
It was a twenty minute drive in possibly the ricketiest colectivo I’d been in all month, but I reached Sta Elena in one piece and exited Belize without too much fuss – note that there’s a $20 departure tax when crossing by land – before entering an intimidatingly unpopulated expanse that functions as the ‘free zone’ between Belize and Mexico. Once again, I was at a loss under the sweltering sun. There was nothing resembling a border post, and there was no life beyond a couple of taxi drivers who naturally viewed me as easy pickings and insisted that I pay a stupid amount to travel the supposed 5km to the immigration hall. Miraculously, I managed to get some sort of mobile roaming going despite lacking data, and thereby discovered that the hall was actually a five minute walk up the road! Weird that it’s not signposted at all, and the absence of humanity really makes you feel like you’re in the wrong place. Anyway, I marched with renewed confidence, ignored the taxi scams, and finally hauled myself into Mexico. The officials in Subteniente Lopez seemed like they’d rather be on their phones than stamping tourists in, but they were vigilant enough to waive my entry tax due to my stay being under six days and soon let me go on my merry way.
Transport options from the border are dire. There was a single colectivo, manned by an asshole who first refused to accept my USD (I’d been unable to exchange currency during the morning’s journey) and then refused to accept my compromise of jumping on and stopping at an ATM along the way. This was not what I wanted to deal with after some seven hours of travelling since pre-dawn with a big chunk of the voyage yet to come. Fortunately, an elderly Mexican couple who were the only other passengers took pity on me and willingly exchanged my USD for pesos (at what would have been a criminal rate had I not insisted on trading fairly), to which the asshole driver could do nothing beyond allowing me on board. After a long wait for further passengers who never arrived, we drove half an hour to Chetumal‘s city centre, where I subsequently hailed a cab to take me to the main bus terminal. Following a 90-minute wait (during which I had a Subway lunch – veggie options were sadly lacking around the station – and spent an inordinate amount of time hunting down a working ATM), I was on my way to my actual destination. It would only take thirteen hours of travelling to finally reach it!
Valladolid + Cancún
WHERE
The destination in question was Valladolid. Mexico marked the final leg of this epic adventure, and I’d now gone way overbudget (so much so that I’d given up trying to count pennies and decided to simply embrace my losses) and over-time to the point where I was forced to streamline my itinerary and ensure that I nailed every single mode of transport hereafter to maximise my efficiency with what little was remaining. My priority for the tail-end of the trip had always been Chichén Itzá, and Valladolid’s colonial charms had been more appealing to me as a nearby base than the other viable options (Merida, Cancún). The bus ride over was an enchanting drive through everything I’d imagined rural Mexico to be, and Valladolid itself – from the brief evening that I spent there – seemed a city of bustling, infectious élan. I could definitely have spent more time there!
Sadly, ‘efficiency mode’ dictated that I rise early the next morning to head to Chichén Itzá. The goal was to reach the entrance before it opened, but I missed the first colectivo departure at 7am so didn’t get through the gates until around 8:30am. Though the site is incredibly touristy, especially in comparison to Tikal, this was still early enough to be able to enjoy the place sans overwhelming crowds for a decent length of time. It takes several hours to do the site proper justice, and I was enthralled by my surroundings – while Tikal offers more of a surreal jungle adventure, Chichén Itzá’s density of ruins and greater accessibility makes for almost as rewarding an experience imo. And honestly: I’ve mythologized Chichén Itzá since childhood, so witnessing its centrepiece (El Castillo) in person was a sensation beyond compare. It was absolutely worth the detour.
@reehan_miah Rural Mexico, rolling through Quintana Roo. #mexico #quintanaroo #ado #rurallife #countryside ♬ México Lindo y Querido - Mariachi Aguila Real
I say ‘detour’ because after Chichén Itzá I got myself back to Valladolid for lunch before hopping on a bus to Cancún – a location which I feasibly could have reached from the border the day before. I’ve never had any desire to visit this city, notorious as it is for Spring Break and a ‘hotel zone’ populated by tourists devoid of all imagination, but time constraints necessitated my catching a flight outta here (my first of the trip – I’m very proud to say that everything else was achieved overland!), and I figured I may as well experience something of the place before getting in the air. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I wasn’t altogether impressed with what I saw, though I was grateful to be staying outside of the sanitised hotel strip and closer to the actual downtown. I glimpsed a bit of beach, grabbed a bite to eat and a much-needed SIM card (the Chinese roaming service I’d been using all trip suddenly decided to stop working in Valladolid) and took myself to bed.
The next afternoon’s flight was to Mexico City (CDMX), where I’d spend the final three nights of this trip. I had a feeling I’d love this place before getting there, and much like the reverse with Cancún, being on the ground merely underlined this confirmation bias. I was staying in a cool hostel, a mere stone’s throw from the fashionable Roma Norte ‘hood, but far enough removed to feel ‘authentic’, albeit occasionally a little too grimy – I was propositioned multiple times by all genders in nearby parks, and there was a group of homeless addicts who stationed themselves semi-permanently outside our hostel (who were totally harmless tbf). I swiftly fell in love with the city’s sights, vibes, and people who – contrary to what current reputation would suggest – were incredibly accommodating to this English-speaking foreigner in their midst. Oh, and it’s a vegan paradise! Great options all over the city, which served only to reiterate how Mexican cuisine is right up there amongst my very faves. An excursion to the ruins of Teotihuacán and a wild night in a reggae club ended proceedings with a suitable bang, and then it was adios to Mexico + Central America as I made my way back to Shanghai (via a 24hr layover in Vancouver).
Chichén Itzá
GETTING AROUND
Mexico’s infrastructure is a world apart from its southern neighbours, even compared to the more economically-developed nations like Panama and Costa Rica. The ADO buses that I used to get around the Yucatán peninsula (Chetumal, Valladolid, Cancún) were leagues above anything I’d experienced elsewhere: air-conditioned, spacious, and both quiet and punctual by Central American standards. My first journey, between Chetumal and Valladolid, was actually on an overbooked second-class bus, meaning that I had to sit on the floor by the driver for the first hour or so before a seat became vacant. This was nonetheless a considerably more pleasant experience than the chicken buses of Nicaragua or the dysfunctional shitshow of Guatemala. It’s instantly apparent that Mexico is not part of Central America proper.
Bus terminals can be a bit overwhelming in terms of size and/or activity, but I never found the staff to be anything less than helpful. Colectivos and taxis (once away from the border) were also pleasant enough when required, and Mexico City’s metro system, while nowhere near world-class (dirty, noisy, overcrowded), was serviceable in traversing a city of such gargantuan size. It should be noted that much of CDMX’s centre is very walkable for those willing to put in the steps! Uber is a useful lifeline for nighttime escapades in larger urban areas, though I navigated every city I was in after dark (and drunkenly stumbled around CDMX’s streets well into the early hours) without issue. Mexico felt refreshingly safe and functional, though bear in mind my very limited sample size.
Teotihuacán
REFLECTIONS
Part of the reason why I allocated less time to Mexico than some of the other nations is that I’ve long known that I’d return there. Its enormity (nearly four times as large as the Central American countries combined) and rich geographic and cultural diversity means that there is no way this will be my only visit. I could well have axed Mexico from this trip entirely, but flying out of CDMX made a lot more practical sense than, say, Guatemala City or San Salvador. I was also eager to get a ‘taster’ of what Mexico had to offer – and I’m happy to say that it was a perfect coda to my adventure. I took in archaeological ruins and had one final fling with the beach, but mostly got to bask in the comfort of a nation whose infrastructural superiority was hugely appreciated after the travails of elsewhere. I’ll say again that I love Mexican cuisine (knew this going in!) and had nothing but friendly interactions with locals wherever I went, bumpy border crossing excepted. I couldn’t have asked for a better ending.
On a broader level, the entirety of March was something ridiculous. I’ve undertaken more ambitious odysseys against the clock elsewhere in the world, so I’d imagined that getting from Panama City to Mexico City in a little under five weeks would be easy peasy given my track record. Moreover, I wanted to have one last test of my mettle; to know if current, post-Covid Reehan can still perform the outlandish feats of yesteryear. A huge part of travel for me is the opportunity to test my resilience – how well I cope with missed connections, endless mishaps, physical challenges, cultural differences, etc. Another part is the opportunity to flaunt my strength: I can wake up at grotesquely early hours for weeks on end to endure arduous journeys, hit the ground running in an unknown town and spend 25,000 steps hitting up every notable sight in the vicinity, and then jump back on below-par transport to wash, rinse, repeat. The fact that I can move at such breakneck speed and endure all obstacles without too much fuss has always been what enables these large-scale adventures. I needed to know that it could happen one last time.
CDMX
And happen it most certainly did. Not without immense difficulties, as already-documented. I hadn’t accounted for just how damaging #latinotime would be when on such a strict schedule. I didn’t recognise how poor the transport systems would be across the board, nor did I realise how much more expensive the region was than I expected, at least in the tourist hubs that I inevitably gravitated towards. And bloody hell: the noise (and particularly the lack of earphones) has given me a renewed appreciation for Shanghai, if not China, where weak civic manners had always been my pet peeve! This whole experience made me realise that perhaps I’m getting a little too old to deal with so much chaos; condensed as it was into such a thin time frame with punishing bus rides rolling into one another in a perpetual migraine. While it’s always worthwhile to undergo travel-related challenges, there’s no need to put myself under that much duress anymore. As a couple of Swedish backpackers quite rightly exclaimed when they learnt of the ground I wish to cover and how I intended to do it: “Are you insane?” Yes, I am, and I’ve proved it often enough for it to require no further proof moving forward. These manic, gargantuan escapades no longer need to occur in quite the same manner.
But I’ve been back for two months now, and in all honesty, though I have no intention of braving a Central American chicken bus ever again, enough water has passed under the bridge to give me some idea of what I’ll take away from this odyssey. I think of the blissful serenity of San Blas, the spellbinding fury of Fuego, the crumbling majesty of Tikal. I think of noise, yes, but also the vibrant lifeblood that courses through every one of the region’s urban centres; not to mention the unexpected excursions into sleepier locales. I think of the kindness and unceasing patience extended towards me by locals having to deal with a moody, scantily-clad mess of a man in perpetual battle with the clock. And I think of all the great conversations I had – with natives and fellow travellers alike. Interactions that were uplifting, that made me realise that the ‘defective, egotistical old man’ that I’m frequently cast as by familiar faces in Shanghai is not at all how I’m seen by the rest of the world. In many ways, it’s inspired me to embrace life again after a few years in the doldrums. Or at least to dream of doing so again. Perhaps there’ll be more excitement in store in the future after all. Let’s see, eh.
Click here for the full Mexico gallery with some additional trip details.
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