It was rectangular, exactly 11 steps around. Polished concrete floor, stained cinder block walls, no window, and a door made of cold steel bars. We were drunk, confused, and scared out of our foggy minds.
Best laid plans
The first week of our month-long adventure was a series of bus trips from Mexico City to the northeastern tip of the Yucatan peninsula. If you’re in a hurry it takes only two or three days, but we stretched it out to better experience the history and culture of Oaxaca, Palenque, and Merida. It was a memorable journey, and time well spent.
We arrived at the coast mid-morning at the old ferry dock that shuttled merchants, tourists, and goods between the mainland and the island. The boats ran every couple of hours, but they weren’t as punctual as their tarnished sign promised.
For three hours we explored the area and gazed at the island just 4 miles away. We were young, strong boys and figured we could swim there, but fear of being eaten by sharks tipped the scales in favor of waiting.
Island life
They gave the signal to load and we dashed down the long pier, quickly climbing aboard and snagging the best seats in the front. We sat for 20 minutes with squirming frustration, annoyed by the merchants slowly loading their goods and gear by hand in bags, buckets, and boxes.
It was late afternoon by the time the boat docked and we impatiently dodged the disembarking vendors and their trinkets and sprinted to the central area of the town for some welcome sustenance. There, we found tacos and some fellow travelers with the experience and advice we desperately needed. Most importantly we found a place to stay and a small store with grande cervezas.
Paradise found
We lived on five US dollars a day. It cost us $1 for a simple lunch, $1 to hang our hammock by the beach, $2 for a tasty dinner and $1 for a liter of beer.
Our days were spent hiking the island, swimming, snorkeling, and socializing with travelers and locals. The sky was blue, the sun was bright, and the water alluring. Beaches were soft sand where the few tourists congregated, and rocky where the best snorkeling was found.
For two weeks it was an unbelievable paradise, living a Groundhog Day existence of perpetually-repeating pleasure.
We christened ourselves the Lords of the Island Kingdom. We knew every inch and cranny (it’s a small island.) Our confidence and arrogance were turned up to eleven. We were the bomb.
Paradise lost
Young men are destined to make poor decisions and the three of us were no exception.
One night our budget had an extra dollar, and we doubled down on a second liter of Tecate. We waddled through town in the manner that ugly Americans have perfected. Our bottles were summarily discarded in a construction zone where we found a horizontal lamp post we decreed to be a balance beam worthy of our athleticism.
Our synchronized leaps and arabesques were a sight to behold.
Lamp posts are strong when installed vertically, but this one had four thin aluminum arms crossed at the top, holding one end of the pole off the ground. Our combined weight was enough to bend one of the arms of the cross.
So what. Somebody can bend it back. We stumbled off to find our next conquest.
Four men with assault rifles surrounded us at the next intersection. Bolts of ice shot up our spines and a blast of adrenaline instantly sobered us. They motioned with their rifles; no words were needed.
Jailbirds
Our frantic pleas, protestations, and promises were ignored as we were escorted to the local jail and into a concrete cell behind a great metal door. There was no ceremony, arraignment, paperwork, or trial. They took our passports.
The metallic clank of a locking iron door is a terrifying sound. None of us had ever been in jail before, and certainly not in Mexico. The movie Midnight Express was still fresh in our minds and we feared our situation was dire. Luckily, we had no drugs.
We devised a strategy whereby I would do the talking in broken Spanish, and Greg, who was fluent would feign ignorance. Brent didn’t speak Spanish, so he didn’t have to feign. The idea was that the police would be less guarded, and Greg could eavesdrop.
They wanted fifty US dollars for the damage, but I tried to negotiate them down. Everyone negotiates in Mexico, right? Well, one has very little bargaining power when standing behind metal bars, so they laughed and left us.
Close call
We marched in circles for three hours as the fog in our brains lifted and resignation crept in. It was 2:00 am and we were exhausted.
There was a commotion in the front, but we couldn’t see what it was from our vantage point. Greg listened intently and after another metallic clank he explained that one of the local kids had been caught with marijuana. The guards said he’d be here for years.
I yelled desperately to the guards and offered full payment. One of them escorted Greg to back to his hut for the money and we were released.
Freedom was magnificent. So was sleep, and we tried our best until morning.
Paradise regained
At our court hearing the next day, we sincerely apologized to the judge and received a stern reprimand, a small refund, and our passports. The cost of repair was US $44, and they were professional and fair about it.
After swallowing our shame, we tried to slip back to our lives of beaches, surf, and sun.
But it was different.
We weren’t the same ignorant, arrogant tourists who used to lord over the island. It was clear that Isla Mujeres was a place where locals took pride in their lives, neighbors, and community. There were no faceless conglomerates behind the restaurants, hotels and stores, rather it was people themselves who kept the wheels of commerce turning. And they worked seven days a week to do so.
On our final day we packed what little we had into our backpacks, made the rounds with goodbyes and promises of return visits to our friends. We swung by the market and bought some souvenirs from the hard-working vendors.
At the dock we watched the new crop of ugly tourists dodge past us as we helped carry a few bags, buckets, and boxes onto the boat.