My Mexico adventure

Come join me in Mexico, I said to an old friend, one who, like so many people, has had a particularly bad 2020. You deserve it, I said. We’ll have a fun beach getaway.

And we did until, 24 hours after she arrived, a group text popped up on both of our phones from a mutual friend, asking “How is Hurricane Delta today?”

We looked at our phones, then each other.

“Who?” I responded, blissfully ignorant that three tropical storms had converged and were now bearing down on us in Cancun. 

When my friend arrived in Mexico, I had already been in the country for five days. They were memorable, in no small measure because I had just ridden out Tropical Storm Gamma on nearby Isla Holbox.

And so continued my Mexican adventure, which began with the simple mission of seeing whether a beach vacation would be any less fun or relaxing now than before Covid-19.

The obvious answer for me: Less relaxing. Or rather, less relaxing than I had hoped. But it was also a fast reminder of two of the things I’ve missed about travel since the pandemic clipped my wings: unexpected adventures and the people you meet along the way.

Solitude and socializing

It started out like any other trip to the Cancun area in late September, a time that brings me to the region each year to attend International Luxury Travel Market — North America.

My home airport, the usually quiet Albuquerque Sunport, was no less empty than it would have been pre-Covid on a Tuesday afternoon. And other than people wearing masks, the only difference was the restricted seating around the bar where I often have lunch before traveling.

On my flights, there was only one slight annoyance: The man in the window seat of my row kept letting his mask slip down. I escaped to an empty row a few rows back. 

I arrived in Cancun just as a heavy rain was setting in, which is not unusual in late September. I awoke the next morning in my luxurious suite at El Dorado Maroma to a beautiful day.

After coffee and enjoying the view from my spacious deck, I set out to find breakfast and was surprised at the number of visitors who had come down at this time of year: you know, hurricane season.

Before I arrived, the state of Quintana Roo allowed hotels to operate at 60% rather than 40% capacity. It was a welcome change for El Dorado Maroma general manager Antonio Denotti, who said that while occupancy usually averages 40% this time of year, it is running higher as Americans tired of lockdowns are flocking south of the border.

Still, it seemed to me the perfect mix of solitude and socializing. There were enough people around for it to feel normal, yet plenty of beach and pool chairs and areas to relax mask-free and away from strangers.

I easily found an uncrowded outdoor breakfast nook, where I had some of the best chilaquiles of my life and enjoyed banter with the wait staff who, thrilled to have tourists back, were even friendlier than usual, something I would have doubted was possible.

Then I padded off to the beach, to sit back and relax and enjoy my first trip out of the country in seven months. 

While I was happy sitting alone under an umbrella, there were plenty of options for those who prefer more activity. That afternoon, for instance, I watched from a distance as the afternoon pool dances and foam party cranked up as usual.

Overall, except for masks on all the staff and some of the guests — and servers dishing up food from what would have been a serve-yourself outdoor buffet — it was exactly the same beach vacation experience such resorts have always offered.

'At least we are free’

The next day, I was off to Isla Holbox, a fantastically funky island about a two-hour drive through the Yucatan jungle and then a 30-minute ferry ride away.

It was sunny when I arrived, but I noticed the golf cart taxis on the car-free island were covered in mud. As we made our way to one of my all-time favorite hotels, Ser Casasandra, the puddles got deeper and deeper, and in some cases the streets were more like rivers.

There apparently had been quite a rainstorm earlier in the day.

During one stretch of particularly deep water, a worker stood to the side of the road next to an emergency truck that was literally sucking water off the streets.

That might have been my first clue that things were about to get interesting. But all was perfect at the 18-room luxury, boutique hotel, which during the shutdown had redone its pool and renovated the public area that serves as lobby, bar and dining room. The renovation replaced walls with glass doors, which made it a more comfortable, more contemporary open-air venue, all the better for virus-leery travelers.

The rooms, thankfully, remain unchanged, with their individual layouts, unique antiques, canopied beds, big soaking tubs and porches outfitted with colorful hammocks.

After settling in, I followed the beach to town, past the island’s numerous toes-in-the-sand bars and trademark lobster pizza stands, where you could tell the visitors from the locals by their footwear. Like me, most visitors apparently didn’t think to pack rain boots.

Still, the island seemed a bit quieter than when I was there last year. One of the hotel workers told me Holbox was seeing a slower comeback than Cancun because, in addition to Mexican nationals, its tourist base relies more on Europeans than on Americans.

The next day, I had another quiet day on my own, enjoying being outside on the water or at drinking and dining venues with plenty of space to relax without worry about masks and social distancing.

Little did I know, though, how quickly my peace was about to come to an end. While checking the forecast the night before my planned midmorning Saturday departure, I learned Tropical Storm Gamma was headed our way. Come morning, it was clear the region was about to take a direct hit.

Initially, I scurried to pack up and get to the mainland before ferry service shut down. But I was too late, so with no other option, I extended my stay, determined to sit back and enjoy it.

In my younger days as a wire service reporter, I intentionally chased hurricanes. For this storm, I was more than happy to be comfortably cocooned at Ser Casasandra, watching the storm from my room, the front porch, the lobby area, even from my grand soaking tub. As Gamma moved out, I had dinner on the front porch, taking in the storm’s remnants while chatting with the staff and learning a bit more about their backgrounds and life on Holbox.

After a great night’s sleep and a morning walk on the beach, my luxury cocoon came to an abrupt halt about 1 p.m. The ferries resumed service. After navigating the now even-more flooded streets, I arrived at the dock to find hundreds of visitors — more than I would have guessed were even on the island — queued up through the muddy streets to get back to the mainland.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about how this would impact transportation on the other end. To avoid having to take a shared van or bus during the pandemic, Lomas Travel provided me private car transfers in luxury SUVs, and throughout the storm they sent periodic texts checking in and assuring me that my driver would be waiting to take me back to Cancun, whenever, no worries.

Two hours later, after standing in line with a nice young couple from Mexico City who had made a long weekend escape from their children and home-schooling, I made it onto a ferry.

And as we sat on the upper deck in the sunshine — masks on, of course — watching a group of partyers and laughing about our unfortunate weather timing, one of my new friends summed it up well as he stood, looked out over the water with his arms outstretched and declared, “at least we are free!”

Then we walked off the ferry, where I found my driver patiently waiting with an ice chest full of cold cerveza.

A stormy send-off

Adventure over — or so I thought — as I made it back to the condo I had booked at the Villa del Palmar Cancun on Sunday evening. I would have just enough time to finish a bit of work before my friend arrived the next morning, and I could officially start the vacation part of my trip.

She arrived as planned, and we had a great first day drinking margaritas, walking the beach and catching up.

As we prepared to head to town the next morning, the text about Delta came in.

My friend called her husband, who insisted on trying to get us out of there. Although I would likely have stayed put to avoid the airport madness, I acquiesced, aware that most people don’t understand the part of me that really wanted to stay. He got us on flights for Wednesday afternoon, just in advance of when the storm was predicted to hit. But over the next few hours, Delta picked up speed dramatically, and it became clear we weren’t getting out.

We went to the market and stocked up on water, a few sandwiches and peanut butter and crackers. (Fortunately, we had already picked up a bottle of tequila; the government had shut down liquor sales before we had even heard of Delta). Then we prepared to hunker down in our room, which was on the seventh floor of a building clearly built to withstand hurricane force winds.

As workers outside covered windows and removed pool and beach chairs, others came to our room to move all of our patio furniture inside. 

After they left, we moved two chairs back outside to begin our private hurricane dance party. By about 1 a.m. we gave up the watch, moved our chairs back in and went to sleep. I awoke just before 5 a.m. to howling winds, rattling doors and water from the driving rain seeping through the seals of the sliding glass doors.

Within two hours, the worst was behind us, and it was clear our resort came through relatively unscathed, save for a lot of leaves and a few displaced branches from thatched roofs. We lost power for less than an hour, and cell service survived throughout.

Our flights out, of course, had been canceled, but we soon got notice that we had been rescheduled to depart Thursday afternoon. That was a day sooner than originally planned, but at least we’d have a little time to catch up on our sleep.

The next morning heralded yet another beautiful day in paradise, and we lamented our departure. The beach and pool areas were open again, and we had lunch by the pool before Lomas Travel came to fetch us.

They again saved the day, not only with a private transfer but by having a representative inside the airport who skirted us around the crowds in the check-in area and up to security.

The trip home was uneventful, but I awoke the next morning with a low-grade fever and nausea.

My first thought, of course, was Covid, which would have disproved my strongly hoped-for and much-pondered notion that, yes, you can travel safely during the pandemic if you follow the rules and advice of health experts. Fortunately, after four days day of isolation (and with 10 more days of just-to-be-safe quarantine) to come, the test came back negative. 

The symptoms, apparently, were related to my losing battle with an infection on my shin from a clumsy move on some steps on Holbox. 

That, however, is a whole ’nother story. For now, I just want a redo on the Mexico vacation, minus at least one of the storms. Because, yes, I found, my favorite country is still just as welcoming as ever — if not more so.