“We are booking a cabana for the night. They are quite cheap, and apparently a great way to avoid the crowds. Imagine this at sunset.” She stretched her arm out like a weather girl, presenting him with the stunning panorama as if she thought he was too blind to notice it before now.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’d like that.” He gave her a smile, that for once, he didn’t have to force.
***
Now their accommodation was booked for the evening, Michael could relax. He took off his boots that he had brought in one of Puebla’s many shoe stores to replace his battered canvas sneakers. The new-unbroken material had taken its toll on his ankles and as he took off his socks, he let the open air sooth his feet. The cool water of the spring did the rest, and he let out an unadulterated moan as the refreshing ripples danced around his legs.
“This is the life right?” The Australian from his mini-van said, as he sat down beside him.
“Hell yeah.” Michael didn’t have to fake enthusiasm. “Sorry I didn’t catch your name.”
“Jerry.” The burly, bearded Aussie opened up a paper bag and directed the contents at Michael. “Chapulines?”
“Come again?” Michael foolishly hadn’t learned a lick of Spanish and had to get by only on what he had gleaned from television shows.
“Grasshoppers.”
“Nah I’m okay. You knock yourself out though.”
“Ah come on mate. Live a little.” He dragged his small backpack from behind him. “We can wash ‘em down with this.” He unzipped his pack and pulled out a thin bottle of mezcal.
“Okay, fine, you convinced me.” He leaned forward to closer inspect the contents of the bag. Brown, unappetizing, their stick like limbs still sticking out, Michael plucked one up and shoved it straight in his mouth whole. If he was doing this, he wanted it over and done with. The texture alone made him gag. He held his nose so he could avoid the taste.
“No, that’s cheating,” said Jerry right before popping one in his mouth with a casualness as if he was eating a potato chip. He exaggerated the crunches and opened his mouth to show Michael the half chewed gooeyness inside.
“Oh god, stop.” Michael retched.
“Here you go mate.” Jerry took pity on him and passed him the mezcal.
After a good quarter of the bottle, Michael walked across the pool and climbed up the other side. Although it looked like the water just dropped off the edge, there was more beyond the pool. Massive platforms of pale bulbous rock jutted out overlooking the mountain vista and seemed to flow down the side of the mountain, like the water that had formed them. Michael assumed it was created by a long, slow buildup of mineral deposits left by the waterfall that had once been there, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask a guide.
By the time most of the day tourists had left, they had the sunset to themselves. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, dusky orange tinged with purple reflected in the perfectly still pools to the point where you couldn’t differentiate the water from the sky. All he could liken it to was one of those screen-saver pictures that had been adjusted until it no longer looked real, but instead, a fantastical, idealized version of what it really was. No filter could create what he was seeing now. Day-drinking in the heat had given him a mild headache, but he didn’t care.
There was something inexplicably magical about a sunset, until his brain felt the need to remind him that the sunset he was seeing was just where the light had further to travel in the evening, and the blue light waves couldn’t make it through the atmosphere, leaving the longer, red wavelengths visible, at least, that was how he understood it. Nothing magical about it.
Chapter Five
After a whirlwind few days in Chiapas and Campeche, Michael arrived in Tulum. It was nice to look at, but lacked the authentic charm of other places he had visited. It was dark by the time his taxi pulled up at the hotel. He had booked the plushest hotel he could find for his budget, and the only thing he was looking forward to in that moment, was his head hitting the pillow. He was so tired he didn’t even check what denomination the note was that he gave the driver as a tip. The driver looked surprised and said nothing, so he assumed it was a lot. He grimaced as his bag straps rubbed against his sun-burnt shoulders and he lumbered up the marble steps, his legs stiff, yet rubbery as jelly at the same time. It was jarring to go from the darkness to the bright hotel reception. The lobby was all dazzling shiny surfaces, from the polished floor, to the mirrored walls. Without saying a word, he put the piece of paper he had printed with his reservation details on the front desk and the young male receptionist picked it up and started inputting details into their computer system, their head bobbing with the rhythmic clacking of keys.
“Fourth floor. If you need anything, let me know. Enjoy your stay at Casa Sands.” He kept his spiel brief, probably picking up on Michael’s exhaustion. He slid the key card across the desk. It was tucked in a paper sleeve with the Wi-Fi password printed on it.
“Thanks.” Michael slipped the card in his shorts pocket and shuffled towards the elevator as a gaggle of high-pitched girls ran in front of him. He pushed the button for the fourth floor and tapped his foot as he waited for the elevator to come down. The light seemed to hover on the third floor for ages. Come on. He was like a race-horse champing at the bit, when the door pinged for the ground floor. A large group of twenty-some-things flooded out of the elevator when it opened, no doubt
