I'm super organized. I would never plan to go to a destination without having a plan on how to get back. When it comes to the archeological zones of Mexico, unless it's crazy popular like Chichen Itza or Ek Balam, there will not be a collectivo or taxi service waiting for you when you are done with the site. Knowing this, I vowed to always go to obscure archaeological zones through tour groups. Then I kept meeting backpackers who, upon a whim, would be willing to just pick up and go somewhere without letting silly things like "planning" get in the way.
I wanted to go to Dzibilchaltun. As I wrote in my ruins post, Melanie and I could not find the collectivo to get us there so we took a taxi. I did not write the part about how we were stuck there because there was no transit service back to Merida or to Progresso (a closer city). The hostel told us we could easily just go to the highway and flag down the Autoprogreso bus. We knew there was some sort of motobike service that takes you around the local area of the ruins site but we did not know much else.
When we were done with the site, we saw a taxi that was being paid to wait for people to finish seeing the site. The driver told us he would take us to the highway for $100 MXN. We thought that was ludicrous! We did not remember the highway being that far away. Most taxi rides within a city are $30 MXN during the day. We decided to leave the site and find one of these motobikes. Our Italian friend Rosita, who has been living in Colombia teaching Italian, was much better in Spanish than Melanie and I. She insisted that we would find a motobike because she got one on the way there.
In a few minutes, Rosita's prediction proved true and a motorized cart showed up. It could barely fit 3 people comfortably. We barely negotiated. I cut off Rosita as she was trying to lower the price. It let my anxious New Yorker attitude get in the way. It was super hot. I wanted to get to Progreso to see the raccoon sanctuary and mangrove eco-preserve. I knew flagging down this Autoprogreso bus on the highway would involve more waiting. We hopped into the motobike and we wiggled our way along the long road to the highway at 10 MPH, max. Cars passed us lefta and right. We were shaking and holding on for dear life. I had wished we paid that taxi driver but this was certainly an experience.
The motobike driver dropped us off next to an on-ramp to the highway. He told us this is as far as the motobike goes and we were on our own from here. There was a makeshift bus shelter on a fork road across from the on ramp. The road to Progreso was the highway, so it did not make sense that our bus would stop at this shelter that wasn't even near the on ramp. A few buses drove by and we asked if they were going to Progreso. We got definite "no's".
We decided our next step would be to get on this damn highway and flag down an Autoprogreso bus. We took the long walk up the on ramp. This is the highway between Merida and Progreso. It's like U.S. Interstate style. It ain't no joke. The sun was striking. The foliage around us was evidence of the arid climate. We were on a desert highway. Autoprogreso buses were passing by 3 lanes away from us, traveling at full speed. There was no way this was going to work.
Melanie, Rosita and I looked at each other with our thinking caps. We pondered hitchhiking. We voted. I held out my thumb. My heart was beating quickly. I was also desperate to get off this damn sunny highway. I knew I was not going to see my raccoon sanctuary because our timing was just not going to work out but I also just wanted to not be stuck. A car pulled up within 15 seconds. Maybe it was 10 seconds, it just happened so quickly. A couple from the U.S. was driving to Progreso! They let us in and we started introducing ourselves and explaining ourselves right away.
These were some super chilled out folks. They were on a weed tour of Mexico. They wanted to try the weed in every state. (The next night I would see them in the food hall in Merida and give them a giant hug). They dropped us off in Progreso and we split ways.
Melanie, Rosita and I wanted beachfront dining. We found a spot and ordered up. We were speaking Spanish to each other. I realized we had been speaking Spanish to each other all afternoon, even through this whole hitchhiking disaster. I guess it wasn't a disaster. It worked out. My anxiety disappeared. I guess I couldn't believe I actually did it. I also couldn't believe that I was finally not speaking English (as it was starting to really get on my nerves that my Spanish was not improving and I was not really practicing it at all). At this point, I had spoke Spanish all day at Celestun the day before and here I was speaking it again the next day. My thoughts about this being a new phase of my trip seemed to be coming together.
Progreso is Progreso. Ya know, not everything in Mexico is nice and beautiful and it does not have to be. Sometimes I just want to see places because it merely exists on the map. I also not going to pretend that every place that I visit is beautiful. Sometimes I visit ugly places having hoped they would be beautiful. Sometimes I visit ugly places even though Cousin Neil warned me the place would be ugly. Beautiful things make us feel good (or at least they make me feel good).
Anyway, Progreso is ugly. There is some beauty in the dilapidated buildings but I guess they are really just run down and dirty and I'm not sure that's something to celebrate. It is interesting to look at but maybe it is not proper to gawk at. Thanks for warning me, Cousin Neil.