Return to Tulum

It was like a private joke to her.

Whenever DW and I returned to our resort from an excursion, my wife would visit the resorts tour kiosk and price out the same trip. The agent would describe the adventure and explain the cost, and then DW would thank the agent and say she would think about it.

The tour would always cost at least double of what we had just paid to do it on our own.

We enjoyed the stability of staying in a resort, but we're travellers by nature and wanted the freedom to roam, wherever and whenever we wanted, on our own schedule. And we didn't want to pay extra to do it.

Before we left for Mexico, DW researched several car rental agencies and the reviews by travellers who used the service. The best reviews came from the Avis agency in Tulum. For $10 Canadian a day, we could get a subcompact car with basic liability insurance (which is mandatory for all rental agencies). My credit card offers collision damage and my own car insurance company covers me for rentals, so we saved by not purchasing extra insurance.

We rented a bright red Chevy Beat for three days, picking it up before noon on the Wednesday and returning it at the same time on the following Saturday.

Here's a travel tip: when you pick up a car, make a video recording of your inspection. Include any conversations with the person who takes you around the car, and close up on any marks, dents, or other damage that you find. When you drop off the car, make another recording of the person who inspects the car. Make sure you capture the inspector saying that the car looks good. On your receipt, get them to write that the car is fine and sign it.

(I had a bad experience with a car rental in France. They chased me for more than a year: now, I get physical proof, by video, that the car I rent comes back in as good a shape as I took it.)

We awoke early on Wednesday morning and packed our camera and video gear, and even took our snorkels and fins, just in case. We arrived at the restaurant next to the infinity pool for a full breakfast: custom-made omelettes, bacon, fresh fruit, and coffee. Because our resort comprised four distinct areas, complete with their own lobbies, restaurants, and entertainment centers that were spread out over a large region on both sides of Highway 307, which ran along the Mayan Riviera from Cancun to Xul-Ha, near the Belize border, a series of trolleys ran guests all over the Bahai Principe resort.

DW and I caught a trolley from the infinity pool to the Akumal Lobby (our lobby) and then transferred to another trolley that was headed for the Sian Ka'an Lobby, on the other side of the highway. We asked that driver to let us off at a spot where we could easily walk to the highway, where we intended to catch a collectivo—one of the many shuttle buses that run both locals and tourists from town to town or site to site along the highway.

The process is to wait by the side of the highway and watch for one of these mini buses. As they approach, you can often see major stops painted on half of the windshield. You simply hold out your arm and point a finger: if they have room for you, they'll flash their headlights and pull over.

You tell the driver where you want to go, negotiate a fee, and off you go.

Our collectivo driver saw us before we saw him. We had just made it to the highway, were walking along the on-ramp from the resort, with our backs to oncoming traffic. We wanted to reach the end of the ramp so that a driver would have enough room to pull over and slow down before reaching us. The driver of this collectivo must have seen us, figured our intention, and pulled onto the ramp. We heard a friendly toot of his horn as he rolled up behind us.

He already had five passengers: three people in one row, all snoozing, and a woman holding her toddler son. DW and I took up seats and told the driver we wanted to go to the Tulum Ruins. He nodded and started rolling. DW asked him how much but he just waved a friendly hand.

DW had already researched the price of a shuttle from Akumal to Tulum. It should cost between 30 and 40 pesos for each of us.

The driver made good time, averaging about 20 kph over the posted speed limit. There were no other passengers to pick up and no one got off, so we made no stops in the 20-minute-or-so journey.

The toddler was in his mothers arms and during the whole time, his gaze was fixed on me. I would smile, make faces, turn my head away and then snap it back to look at him. His gaze never changed.

Across the highway from the road that led to the ruins, the driver pulled over and then got out of the vehicle. He came around to our side of the van as we were emerging from the sliding side door. He asked for 100 pesos but when we balked, accepted 80 (even though we had him make change from a 100-peso note).

We carefully walked across the highway and made our way to the admission gate. Along the road, many people offered to sell us tickets or promised to provide tours, but we politely declined. These folks always charge more than what you can arrange at the gate.

This is not the main entrance. Keep walking to the gate.

The cost of admission to the ruins was 50 pesos each, plus they wanted an extra 45 pesos for the privilege of operating photographic and video equipment. Smartphones are free, but if you pull out a big-ass D-SLR and a GoPro, they expect you to have this permit.

DW and I took our time exploring the region on our own. From time to time, if we happened to stop where a tour was being conducted, we'd eavesdrop, but only briefly. Because we had left our resort so early, however, we arrived at Tulum shortly after the gates opened, and so there were few people and fewer guides.

Thirty years ago, the last time I was at Tulum, I was with a tour group. We had booked an excursion with other travellers, and so we were bustled through the archaeological site. I remember feeling rushed. Because the site had been relatively new as a tourist attraction (it opened to tourists in the early 80s), not as many structures had been accessible. Today, the grounds seemed bigger to me, though you can no longer climb any structures (as I had done in 1989).

Today, there is a set of wooden steps that lead down to the beach, just to the south of el Castillo: in 1989, there was no access at this point.

DW walked around the site with our 360 camera, taking in literally everything. I used my D-SLR, moving at a much slower pace. DW could start the video camera and just keep walking, certain that everything was being captured: I, on the other hand, had to stop and compose for everything I wanted.

The 10:00 crowd arrives. Time to go.

By about 10:00, more groups were filling the site and the sun was starting to get hot, but we were done. We had spent about an hour and a half and had avoided the heat and most of the throngs. Any tour group that we would have joined, from our resort, would be arriving just as we were leaving. Our plan was perfect.

Almost.

DW realized that she had forgotten her map of the region at the resort, so we didn't have a clear idea of how to get to the car-rental agency. We had to be there to pick up the car at 11:00.

At the exit to the ruins, a single road ran south, following the coastline. I figured it was heading in the right direction, so suggested we keep walking and look for signs. The town of Tulum was three kilometres away. We each had large bottles of water: what could go wrong?

Several taxis passed us and offered a lift, but we declined. To the right of us was the national park of Tulum, an undisturbed jungle; to our left, a string of hotels and bars. There were no side roads for a couple of kilometres. One man, standing at the side of the road, asked me if I wanted to go snorkeling.

"Not today, thanks," I said, and kept walking.

"When do you want to go?" he persisted.

"Oh, I don't know." I continued on my way but could hear him laughing.

"You know why he's laughing, don't you?" asked DW.

"Why?"

"Because we've got our snorkel packs with us and you told him you don't want to snorkel today."

I had forgotten I had a web bag slung over my shoulder. It was tucked beside my camera bag, out of my way.

The road seemed to go on forever, without end, and we were mindful of the time. I was also slowing down, too: my arthritic right foot was giving me trouble and my left foot, still recovering from surgery, was beginning to complain. We decided that if we didn't see any indication of a turnoff in the next 10 minutes or so, we'd think about hailing a cab.

Five minutes later, a cab tooted its horn, and we said enough's enough. The driver wanted 300 pesos to drive us the rest of the way to town, but we talked him down to 150. The trip took less than five minutes (we were totally ripped off).

We had actually booked the car through Rentalcars.com, so all we had to do was show our reservation number, passport, and drivers license, and we were done. We threw our snorkel equipment, camera bag, and backpack in the trunk, and off we went.

The original plan was to head to a cenote to do some snorkelling, but because we were both tired and hungry from our long walk, we decided to head back to the resort for some lunch and margaritas. The cenote could wait.

The next destination for our vacation: sea turtles. Stay tuned...