Â Today it was time to move. I had booked a hostel in Tulum. The website sounded amazing. 100m from the Mayan ruins, 500m from the beach and 2km to the town.
I realised I had lost my debit card! After going to the local shop with a friendly Spanish guy I still could not find it. An expensive and worrying phone call later I had money once again. I booked my bus to Tulum. Returning to the hostel I chatted more with Atoro as he showed me places of interest across Mexico. He had come from Merida where he was staying with a friend. She was associating with somewhat souless scammers and he left in disatisfaction of the situation. Here he now was in Cancun somewhat lost. He asked if he could come with me; I said sure but I had to run to catch my bus.
I left without Atoro and sat in the bus station not knowing where to go. He arrived in a rush and ran to a bus I chased after him. A 3hr bus ride later we were in Tulum. No sign of the hostel other than a glimpse of a sign “Lobo Inn” some 3kms or more back. The benefit or travelling with a Mexican became clear! In this situation I was lost. A friendly local advised us to take a transfer van as it was cheaper than a taxi. After heated dicussions with 3 van drivers it seemed the mexican hospitality in this case did not extend to English men! Atoro was somewhat embarresed and we opted for a cab.
On arrival at Lobo we were met with a frenzy of activity that suggested we were the first guests in years. The hostel was somewhat run down and felt at first more like someones home; the boss a seemingly half cut, chain smoking gringo, friendly nether the less. We had an entire dorm (air conditioned) to ourselves, all was not lost. Around us was like a building site in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road, yet next to the ruins.
We were offered a lift into town. Jumping into a beat up Dodge Ram gringo rock playing. Suddenly I thought I was in Fear and Loathing or similar surreal American film.
We ate at a local fish restaruant, on the hostel bosses recommendation. I played safe with chichen Fajitas. We walked around the town. A quick visit to the hostel in town made or residencies look deserted. The place was buzzing with lots of people my age drinking and bbqing. We left feeling somewhat hard done by. After tracking down some beer and vanilla cigars; Atoro suggested we walk back to the hostel. This took far longer that anticipated, we walked along deaths type rope; as trucks hurtled by us in the black of night.
Safely back at the hostel Atoro and I launched into hours of conversation. The topic of which I seldom address with others. From the paranormal to spirtuality the Maya and much more… It turns out Atoro shared my openess for the unknown, but was also atuned to many pyschic feelings and notions. He told me of his past life experiences, being part of an international paranormal psychology association, new and old souls and much more… I returned with equal gusture cumulating in me divulging the purpose of my trip. Unflinched the bond was set. Excitment and overload led to sleep. I had made a friend (I think for life); a mexican spirit guide! Our syncronicity atuned; the correct exercise of the power of now.