My stupid depression a few weeks ago was in part to a sad heart because I’m not going to Puerto Morelos Mexico this winter. I tried to work something out before my trip with that boyfriend of mine but I simply couldn’t find a place to stay which was: safe, affordable, and easily accessed. It was all about the logistics. It feels funny not going there this year. I’ve been going to the same place since 2007 and in 2008 we stayed in a cozy place and made life long friends we would see year after year. I will miss them and look forward to seeing their photographs on Facebook and hopefully seeing a few of them this spring if I’m able to make a pilgrimage to see my younger son at school in the Midwest.
The town has changed a lot in the last eight years, a few of our favorite locals have died or moved back to the states. The town has grown and it isn’t as gritty as it once was. I miss that part of it. I am impatient with the expats who live there and constantly bitch about the inconvenience of Mexico and the cultural differences…and why isn’t it more like Canada? A dear friend has decided maybe the only way to make the Snow Birds happy is to build a giant hockey arena and rename the Yucatan “Canada”. Gone are the days of riding the bus to Cancun or taking an expensive cab to Sam’s club in Playa. Now there’s even a giant shopping center off the highway. But when I return, I’ll still take the Collectivo into the Colonia and struggle with my bad Spanish, and shopping bags.
One of the other compelling reasons I didn’t feel I could go this year was I would be on my own in Puerto Morelos and while I’m mostly rehabbed I can’t walk great distances or manage lifting over twenty pounds. I would be limited how far I could stay from the beach and the center of town. I would need help managing my groceries. I don’t want to ask for help by any stretch of the imagination. Those people all helped my sorry-assed broken back last year.
I’m not usually upset about my limits, the need to not sit too long and stay stretched out so I don’t have spasms or weird nerve pain. But I had a long weep about it when I tried to carry something largish into the house a few weeks ago. It was the second time I cried about breaking my back. Big sloppy snotty self-pity sobs.
But it isn’t like I’m not going to Mexico! I’m leaving the day before my birthday for a week at a resort. It’s not an economical trip by any stretch but I’ll be escaping winter and going mostly off the grid for a blissful week.
Who knows…maybe by September I’ll be fit enough to tackle Cuba? Or just go to my Puerto in the quiet season like we did a few years ago when I almost didn’t come home.