El Mecico Nov21

El Mecico

It was with a sense of adventure and a feeling of backpacking proper that I took an assured step off the red-eye flight from San Diego to Cancun. I had previously alighted in Cancun airport, and had stayed at the same hostel, only 18 months prior on an explosive lads holiday with J-man, a friend from University, so knew the in’s and out’s of the bus system and the layout of downtown Cancun – often the most troublesome times for a backpacker of getting from a alighting point to hostel. Mirroring the change in travelling mantra and lifestyle choice from our Alaskan cruise to San Francisco, the step down in the proverbial ladder of change from San Diego to Mexico was taking us to a backpacking lifestyle in the vein that mums and dads believe how backpacking looks. We were carrying our life on our backs (in our packs), we were ending up in foreign non-English speaking countries and walking 2miles instead of taking a taxi to save ourselves a dollar. We had booked ourselves just two nights at the party orientated Quetzal Hostel in the grimy, sweaty, dirty, nightlife loving, American spring break craziness city of Cancun. On the backpacking scene the city is generally considered a place to party, drink, sleep in and repeat – and although I’d done it before (loving the infamous Coco Bongo’s nightclub) – Han and I were using it a base to see Chichenitza, arguably the most famous East Mexican ruins before quickly moving on to the more sedate and cultural Merida. I struggled to not join in the drinking games and party the night away, even when free tequila was given out with dinner; my social, party, sin driven devil arguing with my conscious, early morning...