Distrust on an empty road

by Irina Lutsenko (Russia)

Making a local connection Mexico

“Be careful,” they said. “You might get robbed or kidnapped or worse,” they said. “It’s a dangerous country.” It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear right before I set off on a journey to cross out the second item on my two-item bucket list. And it certainly didn't stop me from setting off to Mexico to see the mighty Chichen Itza. I arrived in Cancun. It didn't look dangerous. It looked like a paradise, really. Soft ivory sand. Warm turquoise water. Soft and warm sunshine on my northern cheeks. What could be better? The only thing that could be better was Chichen Itza. My Holy grail. Check. Done. Accomplished. With the bucket list reduced to zero and a tip from a nomadic Irishman, I set off to Cobá next. Being averse to package tours and driving, I had to take a local bus, just like an ordinary Mexican. Except, I am very tall and very white, so I look nothing like an ordinary Mexican. With a huge camera on my neck and without any knowledge of Spanish, I was the epitome of a western tourist. I made it to Cobá safely and rushed into the jungle, with all its 50 shades of green. Cobá turned out to be very different from my bucket list destination. The place was teeming with tourists too, but the ancient ruins are scattered over a vast area, so at times I enjoyed complete solitude as I wandered from ruin to ruin. Having to exercise Herculean effort in the humid heat, I climbed the tallest pyramid on the Yucatán peninsula and was awarded with a bird’s eye view of the lush jungle. I spent hours in Cobá and was ready to spend more. I loved the jungle, I loved the ruins, I loved the pyramid, I even loved the gargantuan spider guarding one of the slabs. Cobá was my paradise. When it was time to catch the bus back, I did what I thought was the most logical thing to do - I returned to the place I had arrived to. To my surprise and horror, the attendant was locking it. I showed him my ticket. The bus was going to depart from a different location, all the way down the road, past the lake, across the church. With 10 minutes before the departure and panic setting in gently, I hurried to the described location. To my surprise and horror, there was nothing across the church that looked remotely similar to a bus stop. There was a road. There were some houses. Not a sign of a bus stop. A rooster was crowing in the distance. The air was filled with a delicious smell of burning wood. I would have considered the place a paradise too, was my panic not setting in more persistently. Fortunately, I saw two guys painting a house and rushed for help. Unfortunately, they didn’t speak a word of English. Fortunately, they brought a man who did. Phew. The man looked at my ticket and said, “Yes, it’s departing from here.” “Here?” said I, in distrust. “Yes, here.” This was when the ruthless, full-on panic struck. I realized I was standing alone in the middle of an empty road, looking like a typical tourist, in the presence of three men and no one else around. All those words of caution I had heard and dismissed before the trip came flooding back. Not-too-soothing thoughts went rushing through my brain, “I might get robbed or kidnapped or worse. I might disappear from the face of the earth now and no one will ever know.” I was petrified. A bus showed up in the distance and started approaching us. The man started waving his arms at the bus. When it stopped, he talked to the driver in Spanish and ushered me in. I was on the bus back, safe and sound. And ashamed. I let stereotypes and negativity and suspicion get to me. Not only did the 3 men do me no harm, they actually helped me. I might not have caught the bus without them. I made it back, safe and sound. And dead set on trusting people, my gut, and the universe.