I’m a tad bit worried about my overweight luggage. In my head I’m already preparing explanations to avoid the extra fee, like having 2 kilos of sand stuck to my clothing that I couldn’t do anything about. Or that I have lost weight, about 5 pounds over the three weeks period, and it should be okay because it evens out.
But that is of no importance right now. This is my last full day in Puerto Morelos and I’m determined as ever to enjoy it to the fullest. Even despite the not so great weather. I’m sitting on the roof terrace of a beachside restaurant alone (they just opened), munching on my fish taco and sipping cold beer to drown the fish in. I’m overlooking the water and the heavy clouds hanging over it. Luckily the few tourists who already arrived for a midday meal decided to sit inside, so I can watch the pelicans unbothered, as they soar over the harbour without a flap of their wings, effortlessly hanging in midair like little imitations of themselves on a wind chime.
Sounds of a football game on television fill the air and they are somehow strangly calming. Every now and then the commentator shouts Goooooaaal!, no doubt aiming to set the world record, for he does so without taking a breath for at least a minute.
More tourists arrive and I’m distracted by their straw hats and Hawaiian shirts. A display of some people’s desperate attempt to try and fit in in a place where only tourists wear Hawaiian shirts, and nobody really cares about what others are wearing. Civilisation is creeping into this small pirate settlement turned fishing village. It gives me an ambivalent feeling as I’m enjoying its benefits, yet it makes me sad how it slowly spoils the beauty of this place, for most tourists visiting from developed countries have no respect for it. The high season is undoubtedly here.
I steer my attention back to the water, the noises around me seem to fade, and I am again taken by the beauty of nature around me. The pull of the water is strong. It seems that very few notice how high the waves are today, their white foam a strong contrast against the rainclouds and the steel blue water. It’s raining now, and the rain drives in more people. Both the growing crowd and the light tapping of the rain add to my melancholy.
I try and focus on the book I brought with me, but I can’t help feeling sentimental thinking of the trip to the jungle, my swim with the sea turtles, the rides on the collectivo (the local bus service), and the friendly, familiar faces in the places I frequented in the past weeks. At the same time the restlessness preceding tomorrow’s long flight has already found me. I probably won’t sleep much tonight. It’s always like this: I come, I see, I capture (on camera and in writing), and then go home with a somewhat sad and bittersweet feeling in my heart that leaves me wanting more. It’s almost like a ritual by now, one of the little perks of travelling. Three weeks is just enough to develop some habits to give one the feeling of belonging, the security of a home away from home. And then it’s time to go. It feels like a part of me is staying here, and I take a small part of this country with me. An exchange I don’t mind.
This concludes our journey through Mexico. I hope you enjoyed reading about it.
Do you have any questions? Let me know what your impressions are.
And for the last time, click here to visit my gallery.