Last Day of “Freedom,” MY FIRST DAY AT WORK AT THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT, & the Last Chapter of My Magnificent Trip to Mexico (Merida, Cancun, Bungee Jumping, Isla Mujeres & Montreal)

Shalom,

 

So today is my last day as an untethered young buck. Tomorrow I start my job as Junior Program Officer, affiliated with the Joint/Union Management Task Force on Diversity & Inclusion in the Public Service, in the Treasury Board Secretariat of the Canadian Federal Government! Now how prestigious (and intimidating) does that sound? I’m so excited about it! And a bit nervous! And not really sure what to expect! But definitely ready to begin! Wouhou!

How am I spending my last taste of freedom? I woke up early, as I’m trying to reset / regularize my sleep schedule, and sipped iced coffee while reading about The Challenge (the finale of its spinoff Champs vs Pros aired on Tuesday night, and the new season premieres in less than a month). Then went for a short bike ride, got the newspaper, and ate a late breakfast out on the balcony while completing the crossword and reading some articles. Now I’m working on this blog post, going to yoga at 5, and I have my weekly Pandemic Legacy game later tonight. Then likely an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 6 (just witnessed the iconique Laganja breakdown, and okurrrr mawma, it was everything, just too f***ing much, SUCH a disaster) and an early bedtime – because tomorrow, I’m at the office at 9am! Whuuttt! Insanity.

And considering how I’ll be out of town all day Saturday & Sunday – I’m helping Tsarina Tsybina move to Toronto by renting a car, picking up ridesharers, driving to Montreal, loading the minivan, heading to T-Dot, listening to the S-Town podcast, sleeping overnight, attending the Pride Parade, then driving back to Ottawa Sunday evening – I need to finish up blogging ‘bout Mexico. I know I sound like a broken record by now, so I’m just gonna get it out of the way, so we can move onto other topics. Plus, after tomorrow, I feel I’ll have much more to discuss – and also much less energy to do so. I know starting working again is going to be exhausting and have a sharp learning curve. I’m prepared for it, but I’m not necessarily looking forward to the adjustment period. Plus I want to continue hitting the gym, so hopefully I’ll have the wherewithal to do that. But it’s that famous paradox, isn’t it? Working out actually gives you more energy, despite everything you expend in the process. I suppose it’s about putting your stamina to the test, depleting it, so you have more in general. I’m not totally sure. But I hope that the past six weeks have conditioned me to be able to last longer and be more energetic.

So let’s get to it, shall we?

 

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Day 11: Merida & Cancun

 

Woke up early, enjoyed the quality hostel breakfast, packed my stuff up, and put it “closed with a key” (cerrado con llave) in the locker. Then hurried down to the main plaza, where there was a free walking tour, which are a great way to explore a city. You can wander around yourself, certainly – and that is what I predominately do – but then there’s so much nuance and history and interesting factoids that you miss when you don’t have somebody there to explain / introduce it to you. I was meeting Fritzi there, and we even waited up for her, but she never showed. That’s one frustration of traveling abroad. You get so accustomed to being able to communicate with others at a moment’s notice when you’re back home – due to WiFi or data on your mobile – so when you’re without that, it goes back to the old-fashioned ways of doing things, pre-cell phones. I kinda like it, though. It’s a return to simpler times. If they show up, great – and if not, well, you can’t get upset about it. These things happen. And it turns out that there were actually two walking tours departing at the same time nearby each other – so she went to the other one, where she was also wondering where I was. Shame, since I wanted to hang out with her again, but what can ya do?

The walking tour was very informative. We learned about the big Cathedral, toured the church, wandered through a free museum in a government building, and checked out the brilliant architecture of other edifices in the city. Lots of wealth families lived in Merida once upon a time, due to the production of sisal, a plant fibre that is woven into rope. The industry boomed and richesse came with it – along with opulent homes and colonial architectural details and luxe living spaces. As well as enormous haciendas outside the city, that I unfortunately missed out on (you can’t do it all). Nowadays, many of these have been converted into upper-crust hotels and palatial estates for the bougie travelers to enjoy. Me, I prefer that hostel and couchsurfing life. All the better to meet people and truly experience an area!

We also walked down this road in which all the shops had these fish tanks / terraria with these cockroach-looking bugs in them for sale. The kicker is that they were all bejeweled, with gold chains and sparkly gems and the like. They’re called makech, and the apparently immobilize themselves when they’re touched. So the idea is, you hang them on y our top like a brooch, and it just dangles there without crawling anywhere. And when you put them back in their cage, they resume movement. It’s living art, a bit macabre, interesting, eye-catching. Like the blinged-out roaches on America’s Next Top Model. I wouldn’t personally do it, but I do think it’s cool.

And the legend behind it is that there was this affluent father (maybe a king?) with a daughter (possibly a princess) that he gave anything she ever desired. After his conquests, he would always bring back a gift for his darling daughter. Except one time, she wanted one of the slaves (or maybe a prisoner) that her father won due to his victory – but he wasn’t having any of it. She disobeyed him, went behind his back, and had a torrid love affair with this slave – only to be caught by the king. To punish her, he turned her lover into a beetle, and the markech adornments were born! Quite the unique souvenir, they would be. But unfortunately, the shopkeepers even charged for you to take a picture of them, so I have none. Google-image search that ish if you’re so inclined.

Our lovely tour guide also told us the history of those white twin-chairs you see everywhere. Similar to the previous old-fashioned story, a father created these chairs so that his daughter could sit and talk with her lover, but they had a barrier between them so it wouldn’t go too far. And of course, the father could sit and watch them converse. How creepy and overbearing is that? #SmashthePatriarchy! Nonetheless, the seats are pretty cool and unique. Another standout image from Merida.

We ended the expedition at this great museum / artists’ residence in a converted old abode. Merida is a very popular city these days with young adults. It seems a bit hipster to me, actually. Very artsy and new-fashioned and up-and-coming. Like Bed Stuy. With artisanal ice cream shops owned by Polish immigrants to trendy art galleries to expensive espresso to La Negrita Cantina. It’s good stuff. Keidan really recommends it. Me, I didn’t love it, but I’m still glad I visited.

After that, I tipped the guide (since it’s not actually free, and she deserved it anyhow) then had to dash. I had bought my bus ticket the day prior for 1pm, and so happy I did, because every seat was taken, and all of the other passengers had kids and snacks and blankets with them. They’re resident pros, on the long bus ride from Merida to Cancun. Like 4-5 hours. Thank Dios there was air-conditioning.

Oooohh! Two funny stories. I bought the ticket from a travel agent off the main square, but due to my annoying frugality instincts, I missed out on a much cheaper one early in the morning, because I didn’t trust her word and walked to the bus station to check it out myself. And by the time I got back, there were no vacancies left. Of course. Don’t get me wrong, I like how I’m money-savvy and don’t go throwing it away – because then I can afford things I really care about (like travel) and not just be profligate with impulsive purchases or eating out – but it does annoy me sometimes. Just another characteristic of mine I’m working on.

Anyway, the funny story is that after I made the transaction, this woman asked me about my nail polish (which was orangey-red at the time). She spoke no English, so what was already a dicey conversation became more difficult. I told her I like the colour, and me gusta romper las expectaciones del género (I like to break gender expectations), and why not? She probably asked if I’m gay too, so I told her, “Soy bi,” pronounced like “bee.” Maybe I said “Estoy bi” ? I don’t exactly remember. Hispanoblantes – help me out here. Do you use ser or estar when discussing sexual orientation? Because sexuality is fluid sometimes, but for most people most times, it is a staid and consistent identity. So which is preferred?

Regardless. That’s me. Being a tiny bit gender non-conforming & educating about queer issues wherever I am! Can’t stop / won’t stop.

The other amusing anecdote is more cringey than funny. After the walking tour, I’m on the hunt for a cold coffee, so I can actually accomplish stuff on the long bus ride. Plus, it helps with the heat, and you know how I love my iced americanos. So I pass this place which has a sign promoting their special – a croissant and a coffee for, I dunno, 40 pesos? A good price – comparable to the other places, but with a lil pastry thrown in. I needed a snack too, so it was perfect. I go in, and inquire if I can get it to go, and order an iced espresso with un poquitito de leche and a croissant to this woman. And then this man comes over, and he asks for my order too, so I repeat it. He describes the croissants with more detail, so I order one with cheese and pesto. Uhmm, yes please!

It takes much longer than expected, and I’m fretting because I don’t want to miss my bus, and then he comes out with this big box – the croissant sandwich and fries and the coffee to go. And a bill, for much more than the sign said. And that’s where the chagrin/humour comes in. Apparently he told me the special was just a regular croissant (which is what I wanted, cool) but offered the other, fancier, pricier sandwiches, and since my Spanish is imperfecto, I didn’t follow that it wasn’t included in the deal. Even the coffee was more expensive! Because apparently he gave me a double, when I didn’t ask for it. Ugh. Like the guy who tried to rip me off / overcharge me for the cold brew in Tulum when all I wanted was espresso over ice.

So this guy doesn’t speak English and won’t back down. I tell him to get his manager – who also is only monolingual – and for the entire ordeal, I’m really stressing out about all the time it’s taking. I even considered just leaving everything there, giving a couple coins for the little bit of coffee I drank, and peacing the F out, because my departure was looming and I still had to collect my stuff from the hostel and then hustle to the bus station. I wasn’t trying to get chased by the policia, though, so I opted not to sip & dash. The manager sided with me and just charged me for the coffee (which was still more than their sign said, but whatever, I’m not going to squabble about a buck or two), so I paid up, kinda enjoyed how she let me do that when the other employee was so upset (why so pressed, bro?), and get the heck outta dodge.

Actually ran into the two older Canadian guys at the bus station, too, serendipitously – Robin and his travel companion – then got a lil snack of empanadas from an adorable old lady on the side of the road, and another coffee, then boarded that bus. Watched Scream Queens and listened to a podcast and eventually got back to where I started: Cancun.

Checked into the same hostel, was happy to see my amigos who work there again (Daniel, Martin, that Canuck guy with the tattoos and his wife), dropped my bag off, and found dinner. Went to La Res Sabrosa, by recommendation of Daniel (and corroborated by TripAdvisor), and enjoyed a phenomenal alambre – which, as Wiki says, is “grilled beef topped with chopped bacon, bell peppers, onions, cheese, salsa and avocado.” Kinda like the orden I got on my first day in Mexico – a make-your-own taco platter. Delicious.

Then I picked up some canned cocktails from the 7/11 across Avenida Tulum, hopped on the R2, and went to the Zona Hotelera. I first went to Playa Tortugas, where the bungee jumping place is, and managed to get there in time to actually see somebody jump and inquire about the process, rates, experience, etc. They told me I could do it right then, but after the dinner I just had, I didn’t think it was the best idea. Plus, I wanted to do it during the daytime, so I could enjoy the panoramic view from atop the tower. And to be honest, I was cowed. So I reserved my spot for the following day. Oh, and they even offered me a discount before I opened my mouth to ask about it. Immediately knocked ten off the price, for only $50 US. Now that’s a deal!

For the rest of the night, I wandered around the Zona, sat on the beach, sipped my drinks, read my book, watched some of the debauchery at the biggest clubs there (Coco Bongo, La Vaqueria, Mandala), and eventually meandered back to the hostel, where I chatted with the other guests and sat on the outdoor patio and ate everything up. What a life.

 

Day 12: Cancun & Bungee Jumping & Isla Mujeres

I woke up especially excited for the day. I enjoyed the breakfast, sun-screened, psyched myself up, grabbed an iced coffee, caught the shuttle, and headed straight for Playa Tortugas again – before I lost my nerve. Marched right to the Adventure Bay kiosk, signed the waiver, paid the fee, and took a couple minutes to gather my thoughts. But after I came all this way and announced it on Facebook and Snapchat and made my mind up, there’s no way I was backing down.

So I climb up the steep wooden stairs, get 80 feet above the water, and really enjoy the view. It’s gorgeous. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, the sun is shining, I have spectators watching from the beach below. I convince the instructor the take some pictures of me with my own phone – probably against the rules, but whatever – then get the photographer to carry it down safely for me. Get strapped into the ankle harness, and it’s surprisingly weighty – but that’s reassuring. You’re not dealing with peanuts safety features, here. And believe you me, I did my research into the company before signing up. I’m not a total idiot.

Then I pose for more pictures with the official photographer, squinting in the sun, and then walk the plank. The instructor is there the whole time, so I’m not completely scared out of my wits. He already told me all about how the process would go, what I had to do, the proper poses, etc. So I was prepared, and not scared. My heart might have been beating pretty fast, but I felt remarkably cool-headed. I get to the precipice of the wooden platform, toes gripping the very edge, and gaze out upon everything. It was such a remarkable sight, absolutely gorgeous. Paradise, heaven on earth, everything.

I wave at the people watching 80 feet below, spread my arms as I’m supposed to, and that’s when my heart jumps to my throat. I get an immediate surge of total terror, my instincts telling me that this is super stupid – but I’m positive it’s safe, and I watched other people do it, and I know that if I overthink it, I’ll get in my head and be too pusillanimous to do it. So I push the fear out of my mind and fall forward with zero hesitation. Legitimately – I wasted no time. And was impressed with myself for doing that, when I’ve suffered acrophobia for most of my life.

And, literally in the blink of an eye, the initial fall is over. I remember at the last second to go into the dive position, I splash down in the Caribbean Sea, then rebound back up, bungeed afloat, and bounce around a couple times. It’s hard to gauge where in space I am, since all the brilliant colours are blurring together, there’s salt water in my eyes, and I’m moving fast. I catch glimpses of the boats in the marina, the wooden tower, the beach, the sky and horizon and ocean, and before you know it – I’m reaching out to grab the ring they held out, catch it, and am slowly towed back to terra firma.

When I’m on my back on the pier, I immediately use the bottom of my “Living Young, Wild, and Free” frat tank top (SUCH a bro) to wipe my eyes of the seawater that got in them – and apparently everybody thought I was crying and taking care of my tears. Nope, that is not what happened. I loved every second of the bungee jump, and was disappointed that it was over and done with so soon! I definitely want to experience it again, but next time from higher up. This one was only 70-80’ of a plummet, which seems like suicide when you’re standing on the brink – but it all passes by in such a hurry. So I can’t wait to do it again.

I was the first daredevil of the day, too – so that was quite the way to shake up my morning!

And then, after riding the afterglow for a while, marveling that I had the courage to do that – when I was all alone and had nobody there to cheer or encourage me – I bought my ticket to Isla Mujeres, boarded the ferry, and sailed the ocean blue. They even had live music on the boat, which was pretty cool – this guy playing the guitar and singing covers in Spanish. Neato mosquito.

For those of y’all who don’t know, Isla Mujeres is a very popular tourist destination in Mexico. Common for those that get to the country via cruise ship. It’s famous for its snorkeling and scuba diving around a coral reef of it. But it also features this underwater museum called Musa – in which sculptures were created and then sunken to the ocean floor, for people to see through goggles and with air tanks. Awesome stuff, especially with how the various flora + fauna cover these statues and kind of “reclaim” them. It was established in order to compete with the reef, since all the tourism it receives takes a toll on the health of the coral and plants. Such a shame for that to happen, so I love this initiative they thought of. Where else can you go see art underwater? Probably somewhere, I’m sure, but it’s not too common.

However, I didn’t do any of this. It was my last day in Mexico, so I didn’t want to take out tonnes of pesos to afford all these expeditions and risk having leftover currency. My big #yolo expense was the bungee jumping, something I’ve been wanting to try for years, and the tattoo, which I’ll discuss later. So instead, I wandered around the town section of Isla Mujeres, which reminded me of Hilo, Hawaii. A nice beach town, baked by the sun, with lots of kitschy shops and restaurants with outdoor patios and people lazily walking around.

I hit up Playa Norte, which was highly recommended by the travel sites, and plunkered myself down in the shade of a palm. Read my book, enjoyed the sights, breathed in the fresh air and luxuriated in the sea breeze. Eventually I stashed my stuff in a bush and went in search of this mini-reef I overheard some Americans discussing on the ferry over. Splashed along in the water with my goggles and Speedo, swam underneath this bridge that connected the glitzy hotel Mia Reef to the rest of the island, and found an aquamarine wonderland. There were rocks out where the waves reach the lagoon, kinda like a natural breakwater, and all around them were all these adorable fish. I floated near them, loved their flashy colours, and even spotted some turtles, swordfish, and a flippin’ barracuda! Fortunately I escaped with all my limbs and bodily integrity.

Then returned to my stuff, which luckily was all still there (in addition to my fingers and toes), laid down on the beach to dry off, then went in search of food. Stopped in a store to ask a local for recommendations, but they place he advised was nowhere to be found. So I strolled down the pedestrian roads, checking out all the menus, and wow, was everything overpriced. Which goes hand-in-hand with how touristy the area is. To be expected. I ended up at the place that looked the most authentic. It was small, literally ran out of the kitchen of somebody’s residence, the menu was nothing fancy, and there were (what appeared to be actual) Mexicans eating there too. Always a good sign when the locals patronize the same restaurant!

I had guacamole and a quesadilla, and it was all delicious. They had a serve-yourself salsa and salad bar, as well, so I capitalized upon that too. I wish I knew the name of the establishment, to recommend to you all, but I can’t even find it on Google Street View. Ah well.

Then back to the ferry station, but I apparently misread my ticket and had to kill another 45 minutes. No problem, though! More exploring, got an iced espresso, and sat watching the boats go in and out of the marina / reading “Truly Madly Guilty.”

Then boarded the board, was treated to more live music on the ~sunset cruise~ back to the mainland, and I even managed to get back when Adventure Bay / the bungee jumping place was still open! So I went straight for the photographer’s stand and tried my best to haggle them down. The prices they charge for their photos is nigh criminal. $35 for like 30 photos? Yeah, it’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.

The lowest he would go was $25 for the photos and the video for it, when I only wanted to give a twenty. So I played hardball, and was just like, “Well, fine, no deal. It’s either you take this $20 and give it to me, or I walk away, you delete the photos and make no money. They’re worth nothing to you. Might as well make some more cash before you close for the night.” And no, that was not all in Spanish, because I don’t think I’m that skilled at my second language (just yet). But it worked! And now I’m the proud owner of some hi-res pictures AND the video of me defying death! Yay!

Satisfied, I returned to the hostel, showered off, researched tattoo parlours, then struck out on the hunt. The place that was best reviewed was unfortunately closed when I finally managed to find it – after serendipitously running into my Canadian pal Robin (from Merida) AND wandering through a city fair / block party – so I stopped in this trendy-looking menswear store that sold expensive Speedos, asking for another recommendation. It happened to be just around the corner, so I headed straight to Placer y Dolor (Pleasure and Pain). Met with the artist and tried my best to explain the idea in Spanish, which was not as easy as it sounds, despite how simple the design was going to be. He quotes me a price, but again, I’m playing aloof – and it works out again! He immediately drops it down to about $40 US, if I do it tonight.

So I tell him, great, I need to take some cash out though. And I wanted to walk around and mull it over for a bit, before submitting to being poked with a needle many times over in an LDC with somebody who I couldn’t communicate with that well. But, you know what, I read the reviews, it had numerous positive testimonies, and whatever, no biggie. So I did it! And I have no regrets! It was quick, cheap, not excruciating, and still looks good! Yay!

I got the outlines of two equilateral triangles pointing to each other on the outside of my left wrist, where my watch goes (and can cover it if I need to). So it resembles a basic, geometric hourglass – but the upside-down triangle stands for queer pride as well, and the right-side up one represents delta, for change. And incidentally, the two of them together also mean fire and water, or balance / duality / etc – but that was just an extra +1, not the reason I went for that design. And now it’s tattoo #7! To tie up with my body piercings! (3 in each ear and 1 nipple)

Finally, with my ultimate night in Meh-hee-ko, I got some more cheap-ass tacos al pastor along Avenida Tulum, at the place the Kiwi Couple recommended way back when, then sat on the patio with the hostel workers / guests, and soaked in the lovely balmy night air one more time.

 

Day 13 & 14 & 15: Cancun + Montreal + Ottawa

Wake up, last hostel breakfast, grabbed my stuff, got a final iced americano, schlepped to the ADO station, got to hang out in the air-conditioned premium lounge reading about Drag Race, listen to the Brain Candy Podcast en route the airport, then only have about a half hour to wait at the gate (since it took me an unexpected while to check in at the counters, Dios knows why, I had only a carry-on). Have my layover in Philly, take my time walking through all the terminals looking for lunch, finally settle on an iced coffee and bagel from Au Bon Pain, the cashier says she thinks my conch piercing is cute and I’m adorable, aw thanks girl, then jetset to Montreal.

It takes forever going through customs, but eventually I make it through, hop on the shuttle to downtown, meet beautiful KyKy at Ganadara, grab the key, and finally relax when I get to his place. He surprises me a half hour later, as I’m sitting in just my underwear on the couch, resting before I got the energy up to shower – but he brought food from the restaurant! Awwww what a darling! ❤

Crash soon after, despite my intentions to go for a walk and experiencing the city that still feels like the most like home to me. Sleep like a log, wander round the city, indulge in another decadent but delicious poutine from Dirty Dogs, do some sightseeing, meet up with Ky & Mike MF Chan at Brutopia for a 5a7, love the raspberry beer, bus to the Mile End and hang out with Bren “G-Frog” Prouse for a lil while, play some Sm4sh, then metro to Atwater Forum to meet Ouliana to finally see Get Out (since Ottawa is severely lacking cinemas in its central core). We stroll back along Ste-Catherine afterward, get a quick bite from Burger King (I clearly was #cleaneating during these couple days), and plan how we’ll move her to Toronto during June. Well, guess what, that’s happening tomorrow! Believe it, squirrelfriend!

With my last day, more aimless walking around, get a banh mi with Melody (who out of nowhere gives me free nail polish – WOW thanks so much, the white paint is exactly what I wanted!) at the perennial Vua, grab coffee with Torchic, then get my rideshare back to lovely ol’ Ottawa. And the rest is history: the post-travel blues and unemployed doldrums and not loving my life situation, especially after how spectacular Mexico was.

 

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And that’s that! The remainder of my travel blogging about Mexico. Who knows when the next exotic trip abroad will be? Not until November at the earliest, since that is when my casual contract with the Treasury Board ends.

Bi the gay, I had my first day on the job today – which I’ll discuss in more detail later – but a quick summary:

Everyone was very friendly, all the documents I was given to read (a huge amount) interest me, I have a nice private office/cubicle, it’s not hellishly open-concept, I met my colleagues and my boss’s boss, received uplifting and flattering advice from my supervisor, got the security badge to enter the buildings and my own laptop and email and login info etc and feel so legit about the whole thing. And ironically, the dream I had right before waking up at 7:30 this morning included my previous boss assaulting me and me feeling powerless to change it, but still giving an impassioned and affecting speech about it to the crowd gathered there. Hm, how telling is that, huh?

I now work Monday-Friday from 8:30-4:30, and it’s not micro-managey, and I don’t feel defeated or even that daunted by anything. I’m absurdly excited about it. Can’t wait to truly sink my teeth into this Diversity & Inclusion Task Force work! Yay!

 

Ciao for now. I’m off to gym, shower, and then head to Ernie’s for the RPDR Season 9 Finale with frands! Sickening!

 

Love y’all,

 

– Jefe

Some T about My Governmental Job Opp, A New Home (for the Summer), CrossFit, & More Mexico/Travel Ramblings!

Oh! Wow! I didn’t see you there! Funny meeting you in a place like this.

 

Anyhow.

 

So I have amazing news. I am quite sure that I have landed a job in government, working in Diversity & Inclusion, on a casual contract basis. Which means I have 90 working days at my disposal, and once I deplete those, I can’t work in the same department until the start of the next governmental year.

Which might not seem ideal, but people do that throughout their entire careers, without ever having periods of unemployment. They just go from casual contract to casual contract to cazh-con to CC, and then the year begins again, and you can return to the original department!

And once you are already in government, it becomes much easier to get other jobs within it. So this opportunity is a foot in the door, along with many other benefits. The work is something I care passionately about – how to encourage diversity, enhance inclusion, and dismantle obstacles to both in the workplace – and also an area I will excel in. I bring expertise to the table, particularly related to the LGBTQ+ angle that is so emergent these days. My future department wants to be proactive in their policies, to be on the vanguard of the movement to increase Diversity & Inclusion, and I will aid in that.

The job will also involve a good amount of research, collecting data, analyzing it, synthesizing it all into a coherent report, and publicizing the findings. More strengths of mine, thanks to the three papers I did that involved performing my own empirical research, with my master’s thesis as the obvious example. My experience with online content creation – through social media and blogging for the Lambda Foundation, Camp Wynchemna, and as part of the AUCC Students for Development grant I received to be an intern at Nexos Voluntarios – will also prove useful in this position.

The 90 days will start sooner rather than later, since the Task Force I will be a part of must create that report by September – and from what I understand, at least one person (but maybe two) of the already-small group is on leave. So it’s a bit time-sensitive, it seems, so I’m hoping to hear back from the woman next week and maybe even hit the ground running by Wednesday. I got a phone call the day after the meeting, in which she asked for my full legal name and date of birth – which I take as a sign that they are starting the security clearance process for me. Which they wouldn’t do if they weren’t serious about this / moving forward with my hiring. So I’m super excited about this!

And this casual contract will take me until the end of the summer, and with any luck, I’ll have found another position by then. I’m optimistic, and very excited about the whole opportunity. It came at a great time, too, since last week I was literally pounding the pavement, handing off resumes to all these restaurants to be a server, just so I had something to do / a reason to get out of the house.

Also, I told my roommate a week and a half ago that I’m moving out, so I’ve been apartment-hunting. Even still, I was hesitant to commit to a full summer sublet, just because who knows where I would be come mid-august? What if the reality TV show came through? What if nothing else in Ottawa manifested, and I decided to work on the high ropes course again? What if I decided to forget the whole thing, fly the coop, and travel the world? I didn’t want to be locked down to an apartment here in O-Town, or say I would take something for the full summer and then have to back out (and thereby let somebody down). So I had decided to move into Julia Conzon’s new roommate’s empty room until mid-July, and then figure it out then.

But now that I (likely) have something until the fall, I can find a place longer-term. And so I did. I’m moving this Sunday or Monday into this really great apartment on Sweetland Ave, in Sandy Hill. I already met the two people I’ll be cohabitating with – Gilmour and Bailey – and even the lil cat Luna. The place is very nice, especially for the price I’m paying. Top floor of a beautifully-designed past-century house, with a large balcony, air conditioning, and even a dishwasher! Plus, you know, some amenities that are commonplace but that I have missed while residing in the current, Nepean St location. Those being a living room / common area and reliable Internet. The place is furnished as well, and G & B seem sweet, fun, and with more in common with me than my current roomie. So I’m excited about it! Yay! (Will just potentially have to buy a TV monitor so I can keep enjoying my BBCan5 & RPDR & trashy MTV shows!)

Speaking of, the finale of The Challenge: Invasion (of the Champions) just aired on Tuesday, and I happened to place FIRST in my league of the official MTV Fantasy Competition! So, from what I understand, I won myself a trip to the VMAs, maybe for two, which are happening in California in late August. Now, I got first place in my own public league, but I am not the person with the most points over everybody who entered. So… I guess we’ll see what happens? I haven’t received an email yet, but it hasn’t been that long since the finale showed. In any case, earning first place is thrilling in itself.

And one more piece of exciting news – I am checking out KRX Fitness, a Cross-Fit gym with a free two-week trial, in an hour with the singular Nick Woodward! I’m a bit cowed by the prospect of potentially puking from (over)exertion, but looking forward to it nonetheless. I gotta push past my comfort zone and “Challenge” myself, right?

SO before I dive right into the working world again, and probably get overwhelmed at the beginning (since I fully expect it to be a lot of work and very challenging, but I’m looking forward to that, so I can grow and learn and become a better worker and person), I should finish up writing up Mexico. So, shall we?

—

Day 5: Akumal

 

My fifth day started in Playa del Carmen, where I met my hostel buddies up on the rooftop for the breakfast. They were all going to Akumal Beach, famous for being the place where you can swim alongside sea turtles. I looked it up on TripAdvisor, and somebody had recently left a review saying that there was a suspension on snorkeling with the tortugas. But these new travel friends had heard from others that it was still on, and it was a cheap collectivo ride away, and apparently a beautiful beach – so even if I didn’t spy any sea turtles, it would still be a good day. What else would I have done, anyway? I had woken up, planning to go to XPLOR, an adventure theme park with ziplining, rafting down an underground river, a buffet lunch. It was something like $90 US, but for a full day of thrilling activities PLUS all the food I could eat, that price is justifiable. Trying to kick my oft-tight-fisted instincts anyway. Alas, you could not buy tickets online for the day of (no idea why), and I wasn’t going to just appear at the park and hope they had space left – and also pay the full price (~$125) without any discounts. So I switched my plans up last-minute.

So Serina & Meg go first, since they were ready, rarin’ to go, and I didn’t want to hold them up. I told them I’d meet them there, like I did with the Kiwi Couple, and if it were meant to be, then I would find them. And if not, well, I have no trouble spending a day at the beach alone.

I take my sweet time getting ready, meander to the collectivo station, grab an iced coffee on the way, stop in a cute lil café for some food to go, end up chatting with the cashier – who was yet another Canadian – then hop in a minibus headed south. I strike up a conversation with my seatmate, another Canadian, and pick his brain about what’s to do around there. I considered doing XPLOR the next day, and just storing my stuff in a locker while en route to the next town, but through talking with this guy, it became clear to me that – contrary to what I had originally thought – I actually was running out of time. And this was not even halfway through my trip! And was originally worrying that I wouldn’t have enough to fill up my days!

This convenient chit-chat decided various things for me. There was not enough time for me to go to Belize (which would’ve been my thirtieth country), which wasn’t advised anyway. I didn’t even have enough days to justify riding all the way down to Bacalar for a day and a night, even if that was recommended to me, for its idyllic charm and picturesque five-hued blue lagoon. So I made my mind up. It would be Tulum-Coba-Valladolid-Chichen Itza-Merida-Cancun-Isla Mujeres. And that’s exactly what I did, and I don’t regret any of it.

Anyhow, I eventually get to Akumal – it was further than expected – and wander along the white sand beach, looking out for a spot to sit in the shade of a palm tree and also keeping my eyes open for the two girlies. And I manage to find both. Meg & Serina were sitting in the blazing sun, and I wasn’t trying to get even more toasted, so I go and claim a nice lil plot for us further up the beach. I eat my sandwich, smile at the shoreline, read my book, and then shoot the breeze with those two when they meander over. Then I go splashing around the waves solo, goggles on, hunting for some turtle friends. I never locate any of them, sadly (even though Meg did), but I do swim /drift over some coral and other fishies. The water felt amazing, of course, and I fully appreciated how I was in legitimate paradise once again. Couldn’t get enough of it.

[And then while walking back to the girls, some random woman who passes me says, “Wow! That’s a tiny swimsuit!” Like, really? Did I ask you? Is it really that small? No and no, so sashay away. Still good for some laughs tho.]

When the three of us tire of the beach / grow a little hungry, we go searching for a place for a bite, ultimately settling on this low-key cantina with a comida corrida (like a menu of the day, a cheap multi-course meal). I had fish tacos with beans and rice. I figured, since we were so close to the beach, it would be supa fresh. And maybe it was, I can’t remember. The food wasn’t remarkable, but it was certainly affordable.

And then we return to Playa and stroll down La Quinta. I wanted to go back to the Mamitas Beach Club / homosection and swim some more, but the ladies didn’t, so we split. And went and frolicked in the ocean some, and it was all so blissful. I’m missing it now, that feeling of complete liberation from cares & concerns. And the temperature was like bathwater. Amazing.

The night went similar to the two previous. Free Happy Hour on the roof, Meg & I timing ourselves chugging these drinks, giggling and laughing and chatting with everyone, and then our random contingent going on a ragtag adventure. We stopped for delicious & super cheap quesadillas, then meandered to another hostel that both V and I had heard was having a party tonight. We manage to find it (it was all the way across town), climb the stairs, and waltz right in. You know that secret, pretend you belong there, act like you own the place, and people won’t stop you? So I tried that… But unsuccessfully. The party was packed, so if I just moved a bit faster, I could’ve escaped paying the cover. And don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t aware that you had to give money to get in, so I just entered like I usually do at parties. But the doorman came up and seemed a bit angry with me. Like, sorry dude, you didn’t post the price anywhere.

Regardless, it was TWO HUNDRED PESOS to get in. Which doesn’t really translate to much in Canadian money (like $15), and it came with a large (triple) tequila drink… But still, I was salty about it. Only the dudes had to pay, the six of us (3 girls & 3 guys) talked about splitting the difference so all of us only gave 100, but when I went to collect from my friends, the deal was off. Easy to get annoyed by that when you’re drinking, but really, what’s the point? I’m fortunate enough in my life that I really don’t give a damn about losing $7. And my frugality can often be a weakness. So it’s literally whatever.

The party on top of this hostel wasn’t really great, either. Too-loud trancey music (which I’m not into and which prevented talking) and not enough room to really walk around or dance – but still hot bartenders and cool fire-dancers. So Meg & I ditched it after not too long, and the rest of the night was my favourite. We went back to the gay club, which was even emptier and sadder than the previous night, so we did a little tour, snapped some photos in the dance cages they had in there, laughed about the whole thing. Then popped in this super random club right next door that still looked like it was setting up for the night and definitely not open – all their lights were on and people were putting out chairs – but Meg and I just pranced around the dance floor. Literally. Skipping and jumping and doing sloppy pirouettes and somersaults and handstands and acting like we were in the tumbling section of a gymnastics comp. It was SO much fun, so stupid and silly and harmless and enjoyable. The BEST.

It was clear we weren’t really welcome, and the employees/owners didn’t know what to do with two gringos borrachitos just making fools of themselves (they didn’t say anything to us at all, but I feel like I asked “Está abierto?” when we entered) – so we left after not too long, and went in search of some eats.

Wandered down La Quinta, which isn’t really known for its cheap food. We stopped at a pizza/empanada place – I had a shrimp slice – and Meg was hilariously trying to bargain the guy down for an empanada or two. In both English and (basic) Spanish, her Australian accent and all, and she was trying so hard. But he wouldn’t budge! I tell you, it was a sight to behold. And she bought one anyway, and grumbled that it wasn’t even worth the money. EL OH EL.

But we made up for this by going to the old favourite, El Fogón. She got some quesadillas, I ordered yummy nachos, and we had a great time. Even though I spilled some salsa on my pants, washed it off at the sink, and it looked like I peed myself. But I didn’t care at all. It was a fabulous night, my favourite during the entire trip, and Meg solidified herself as somebody I can definitely kiki with / get ridiculous and be silly and have the most fun. Miss you so much, girl!

The friends I made in Playa del Carmen & the wonderful place I stayed in made it the stand-out of the whole twelve days. I had good hostel experiences elsewhere, for sure, but PDC was legendary.

And that brings me to….

 

Day 6: Tulum

I wake up, get breakfast, say adios to my lovely nuevos amigos, then go to the ChouChou Café, an adorable and beautiful coffee shop down the street from the hostel on the way to the collectivo station. Perfect. I sit on the porch, have a delicious shakerito (espresso + ice + un poquitito, no más, of milk), and enjoy the ambiance… Then head to grab a minibus to my next stop, sweating profusely because I’m carrying all my stuff and it is bloody hot out. All part of the charm, though.

I probably chat up my seatmate on the ride down, I’m not sure. I did that various times, because the best suggestions come from the locals. And I get to Tulum and have the most trouble finding my hostel. It was actually dreadful, maybe the lowest part of the trip. I had an address and a pin dropped on Google Maps, and I walked up and down the damn street searching for it numerous times. Of course, this being relatively rural Mexico, there weren’t many numbers on the houses to assist me with locating it. And I even stopped in various nicer-looking restaurants and asked them if they knew where it was, and they had never even heard of it! One guy even used his own phone to Google it, with no progress made, and then TWICE called the number they had given me, but nobody picked up. Like, what?! Am I being punk’d? What is the deal? And it was sweltering out and the area it was supposed to be in wasn’t the nicest and I lost a little bit of hope, to be honest. I didn’t want to wander all the way to another hostel, in hopes that they had a bunk available (since the one that was recommended to me was all full-up), when I still felt I was going to actually find the “Chill Inn Hostel.” And I didn’t want to be charged for the original one, if I wasn’t staying there, or go through the rigmarole of reversing that charge.

So FINALLY I manage to hunt down the place. They did have their number posted, but it was hard to see – and since NONE of the surrounding buildings did, I wasn’t really looking for that. They had ABSOLUTELY NO SIGN outside to signify that, “Yes, international travellers – without working cell phones or knowledge of this area and maybe even no command of the local language – this is the hostel you’re staying at! Super easy to find!” SO DUMB.

I was livid when I entered. And when I expressed this, and told the worker (en español) that there was no sign and how are people supposed to locate it if you’re not doing anything to facilitate that, by putting something at least a bit recognizable outside, all she said was, “We don’t need one. If you know where it is you can find it.” Like, yes, obviously if you know where to look for it you can locate it… But people who have never been to the hostel or even to Tulum will have no idea! And she was absolutely nonplussed about the whole thing. Aaarrgghhh, maddening!

I vented a bit more to two young, blonde girls that were in the hostel too, Fritzi (German) and Kirsten (Dutch). And that wasn’t the greatest first impression, let me tell you. Sweaty and frazzled and – by how relaxed everybody else was – seemingly overreacting. Fortunately that didn’t really appall them too much, as we ended up hanging out later at the hostel, and in Valladolid, and even at Chichen Itza.

I went into my room, cooled off a bit – both literally and figuratively – then went out for some lunch. Maybe I was a bit hangry as well. Probably. Returned to the taqueria with the gentleman who rang the hostel and really tried to help me out, because I wanted to show him my gratitude. Unfortunately, they were out of tacos for that day, so I ended up patronizing that establishment on my last afternoon in Tulum.

Instead, I ate at Tropi-Q, which had an amazing comida corrida for ~120 pesos. If I remember correctly, it was cucumbers with cayenne pepper, then some fresh bread, with papaya agua fresca, then spaghetti with spinach and olive oil, and finally pork with black beans and a Mexican-style ratatouille. Chopped/sautéed vegetables with sour cream and some cheese. Everything was delicious, it was so cheap, and I sat out on the patio and people-watched.

I had a conversation with my neighbour, as well, who was an American woman in her 30s or 40s who just upped and moved to Tulum for two months, to get away from the hustle+bustle of US life. She was studying Spanish and enjoying the beach and just taking it easy. Very Eat, Pray, Love of her, and I value that. Tulum has that effect on people, I gathered. Everyone seemed to absolutely adore the town, and it’s somewhat of a surfers’ paradise. Amy Demone spent eight full days there, just working during the day then heading to coastline at night, and doing yoga on the sand. Tulum is, like, the hot new thing in Mexico. Very trendy and upcoming and hipster. I certainly liked it, don’t get me wrong – but maybe it’s a bit overrated? I don’t know. I didn’t spend the most time there, so maybe I didn’t relax to the extent I should’ve or really took the time to absorb all the town had to offer. I don’t know.

What I didn’t love about Tulum is that it has two parts: the town (which is a bit dingy + dusty, to be honest) and the beach, which is much nicer, greener, and paradisiacal. Which means, of course, that it is more touristy and expensive, with the classier restaurants and beach resorts. And in order to go from one to the other, you either had to rent a bike or take a collectivo – the former which I didn’t spring for, since I never spent a full day there, and the latter which were not as regular as in Cancun.

Still, Tulum was awesome, and definitely worth the visit – because it’s the new thing to do, if nothing else. I’ll finish up writing about it later, as this is at ~3800 words currently & I have exciting plans to grab a drink right now!

 

So there you have it: some T about the job sitch, my new home (printing out + signing the sublease today), and more travel ramblings.

Hope y’all enjoyed. And I welcome your feedback! Do you want more funny stories and misadventures? Or more musings and philosophical insights? Or straight-to-the-point, what-did-I-do-in-Mexico details? Or a mixture of all of them. Let me know.

‘Til next time my darlings,

Love+light,

 

– Jefe

México Mágico (Parte Uno)

Aloha! Or should I rearrange that and say – holaa!

 

So I wrote and uploaded my most recent update yesterday, and I just finished filing my taxes – but I’m at a table outside, sitting in the sun, and just indulged in a grande quarter-sweet light-ice no-dairy iced coffee at Starbucks despite the fact that I’ve been suffering from insomnia this past week and couldn’t/didn’t fall asleep until 5 am last night. So I figured, before I go walking around Ottawa some more, let me at least get the ball rolling on a new blog post, all about my trip to Mexico. So let’s jump right in.

 

 

Day 1, March 29^th: Ottawa-Philadelphia-Cancun

Woke up at 3:30 am after only going to bed after midnight. I opted to be hedonistic – have a late-night snack and watch some RPDR – instead of being a good Christian and going to bed early. Whatever, right? I’d get more rest in Mexico.

Head to the bus stop when it’s still dark, listening to new music (Brooke Candy & Kerli), get to the airport, have my future breakfast (yogurt + granola) thrown out because it was a “liquid” and wouldn’t fit in a 1-litre bag, and wait 10 minutes in a 3-person line at the Express Tim Horton’s only to find out they don’t have Ice Capps, despite what their sign says. Chit-chat with the check-in agent, suspect people are judging me for my orange/coral nails (“Hot & Spicy” from OPI), download The Challenge: Invasion, and fly to Philly. Catch up on Scrabble, complete some crosswords, watch The Edge of Seventeen on the plane, and land safely in Cancun! Customs takes forever, but as soon as I get outside, a smile immediately comes to my face. The weather was so balmy, the sun was shining, there was cheap beer and margaritas, and the shuttle to downtown Cancun only cost $5 US. And I managed to get on an earlier one, instead of waiting another 45 minutes – simply because I asked. Audentes Fortuna iuvat.

So I get dropped off at the ADO station, walk down Avenida Tulum, withdraw some pesos from a Scotiabank – and honestly had no idea how much to take out. I obviously hadn’t slept much and didn’t quite have the conversion rates down. Fortunately, I didn’t have to pay any fees to use the ATM – thanks, Global Partner Alliance!

I have no sense of where my damn hostel is, since the street signs in Central Cancun are few and far between. And I’m carrying all my valuables, in a pair of jeans and lugging around my hoodie and leather jacket, and sweating so much. I stop in a 7-11 and ask for directions – and the guy is so kind that he looks it up on his phone! What a sweetheart.

So I manage to locate La Casa del Viajero, knock, no answer. So I just waltz right in, see construction going on, and I’m like… What? Is this the right place? But it was, and this was a common theme of my Mexico trip: things that seemed a bit sketchy or unsure, but you just gotta trust in it – and then it works out for the best. It was the same when the hostel worker (and apparently the contractor/construction guy too), Martin, takes my money but doesn’t have change for me. What can ya do? Just breathe, hope for the best, and “it’s fine.”

I meet some of the other guests, make fast friends with a Kiwi couple, then look up good places to eat – ‘cause I was hungry at this point! I change into shorts and a sleeveless shirt (never to wear anything else during my trip!) and hit the road, heading to a taquería that was recommended on TripAdvisor. I order “un orden” of tacos al pastor – so kind of a make-it-yourself dish with tortillas and marinated pork with pineapple. Came with grilled baby onions, fried black beans, sautéed nopal (cactus leaves), and, naturally, lime, onions, cilantro, and an assortment of salsas (red, green, pico de gallo). I had a Corona too, of course, and I just relished how yummy and affordable everything was. The weather was perfect, there was a great breeze, and I was in friggin’ Mexico. I had no idea I would be there, even a week prior – and I was ecstatic to have made it to my twenty-ninth country. I wrote about this in my journal, breathed it all in, and was smiling so wide. Magnífico.

Then I wandered around, strolled through markets, searched for sunscreen (by asking for “cream against the sun” because I didn’t know the word “bloqueador”), stopped back at the hostel, and then geared up to go to the Zona Hotelera – which is what everyone thinks of when they picture Cancun. It’s the white sand beaches, turquoise waters, huge hotels and nice resorts and bumpin’ clubs. A two hours’ walk from the downtown section, or less than a half hour on these big buses that run constantly and only cost 11 pesos to hop on – not even a loonie. That exchange rate was really workin’ for me during my trip!

I initially headed to the ME – the hotel where Jonna, Jasmine, CJ, Derek, Emilee, Ayiiia, Bronne, & Joey stayed on The Real World: Cancun – and walked right up the entrance to “fake it ‘til I make it” and seem like I knew exactly where I was going… Only to be stopped by a construction worker. The hotel was apparently undergoing renovations and wasn’t open at all. And I rode the bus all the way down to check it out. Alas.

So I put my headphones in and marched all the way back up to the main section of the Hotel Zone – with all the huge clubs. Coco Bongo, Senor Frog’s, Dady’O, Mandala, La Vaquita. They were all blasting music and competing for attendees. But at like $40 US to enter, nah. Even it was open bar. They had scantily clad dancers enticing people to come in, neon paint, black lights – and everything turned up to 11. It was something to see, for sure. But not exactly my scene, especially since I was traveling solo. So I marveled at the debauchery a bit, then walked on down to a private beach. Could still hear the house music, remixes to popular songs – but coupled with the sounds of the waves. All the lights on the water, people sitting on the sand, enjoying the night for all it was… Just amazing.

Then I wandered over to Casa Tequila, ordered a lime-salt-rocks margarita, listened to the mariachi band, and wrote more in my journal. Then walked more around, with all these vendors trying to sell me things and entice me to go in their bars and strip clubs. An easy way to deter them? Just tell ‘em “I’m not straight.” And they back right off, haha.

Then returned to the hostel on a ~party bus~ (lights, loud music, people drinking), got to know the other visitors more (New Zealanders, a Russian, the Quebecker host and his BC friend, Germans everywhere), watched The Challenge, and hit the sack.

 

Day 2: Cancun

I sleep in, enjoy the free breakfast (huevos revueltos con frijoles negros y toast y café instante) out on the patio by the pool, chit-chat, and strategize with the Kiwi couple. I lead them to the stop for the shuttle to the Zona Hotelera (so they aren’t waiting for 20 minutes for one to show up like completely morons, as I did the night prior) and agree to meet them there. I grab a delicious iced americano, purchase some aerosol sunscreen, then ride the bus over to Playa Delfines as well. Once again, I hop off at the wrong time, so I have to walk along the main road through the punishing midday sun. But I was not going to let any of that get me down, because it was a marvelous day in a new country! Why would I be upset about such trivialities! No way, no how. And I even managed to see some iguanas on the stroll over.

I locate the beach, and oh WOW, it is gorgeous! Truly picture-perfect – not too crowded, a great sea breeze to keep the heat index down, nice amenities (showers, bathrooms, umbrellas), and all for free! And I even manage to find my New Zealander friends, which seemed pretty lucky to me. So we spend a good part of the afternoon there, together.

I body-surfed, walked up and down the shore, sunbathed, sat in the sand and let the waves crash around me, bantered with my new-found friends, read Mindy Kaling’s “Why Not Me?”, did some swimming, and did not take any minute of it for granted. It was ideal and idyllic.

We snapped some photos with the multicoloured, larger-than-life city name sign, like those everywhere else in Mexico – Valladolid, Isla Mujeres, Merida – then walked back up the main road, seeking some ruins I saw on the map. Never really found any of them, but we did happen upon the Mayan Museum, which I heard good things about. However, it was their last day in the country and didn’t have money to burn, and we were all hungry, dehydrated, and a bit sunburnt at this point. So we split up – I went to the best taquería on TripAdvisor (Tacún) and had a margarita and arrachera tacos, and they returned to downtown Cancun.

I stopped back at the hostel, hung out in the pool a bit, rested some, realized how damn red I was (I should’ve reapplied), and later did an abortive attempt to go to a local gay club. It was already 9:30 and nobody was there, and I was beat anyway. So I stopped by another bar, which had three tequila sunrises on special for 120 pesos – or less than $10 Canadian. I sipped on those, wrote more in my journal, and eventually meandered back to La Casa del Viajero. Mostly everyone was gettin’ their drank on – barely diluted full glasses of whiskey and cheap Mexican beer and broken mugs etc – so I hung around this chaos for a bit, laughing with the rest of ‘em.

When I travel, though – I very rarely go out, and I was tired from all the sun and heat. So I later showered, applied aloe lotion everywhere (I’m not trying to look like a snake mid-molt), packed my bags, and went to sleep.

 

Day 3: Playa del Carmen

“Playa” was my favourite part of the trip. Thanks to Martin’s advice, I took a collectivo (like a crowded van, like in those professional rideshare outfits) down the coast to PdC for only 40 pesos, instead of a bus that would’ve been more expensive, taken longer, and been less of a cultural experience.

And the midday Yucatan sun is hawt on that day, so carrying my stuff and trying to navigate a new city was not the most pleasant of experiences. But I found my hostel, the Lobo de Mar, pretty quickly – and it was definitely the right choice. I loved it! It was one of those nicer, “cooler,” more social ones. I mean, they had a diving shop kiosk in their lobby, a rooftop bar open to the public (with a mini pool), free water and WiFi and breakfast, comfortable beds, attractive employees, discounts for other local businesses, and the best part – a free happy hour for guests every night! And the price was comparable to everywhere else I stayed, too. I loved it, and a big part of that was that I actually made friends there – facilitated by the gratis cocktails, no doubt.

I drop my things off, do some lite research on where to eat lunch, and go to Cueva del Chango for some grub. Which was also awesome. Great atmosphere – they had a small waterfall, a stream, all these trees, a simulated cave (hence the name), and even a pond with cute turtles. I ordered an iced americano (naturally) and chilaquiles, a dish I had heard lots about (also on Orange is the New Black) and which was recommended on the “female foodie” blog I read. It’s like nachos, but instead of being covered in cheese, it’s smothered in sauce. So, tortilla chips, the salsa you choose, pickled onion, avocado, chicken or beef or egg, and sour cream. Friggen amazing, YUM. I enjoyed that to the fullest, wrote in my ournal, and soaked up the amazing weather.

Then I wandered around the town, primarily on “La Quinta,” or 5^th Avenue, the main tourist area of Playa. It’s a pedestrian street with the nicer (and pricier) restaurants, bars, shops, etc. Lots of people trying to sell you things, like always, but still great to walk down, people-watch, and feel some of the AC drafting out of the stores. I ended up down at the beach, of course, and sought out the gay area. When I saw numerous tan and shockingly fit old dudes in Speedos, I knew I had found it. I sat down in the sand, in the shade of somebody else’s (rented) umbrella, gazed around, watched the waves, listened to the house beats coming from Mamitas Beach Club, and read more of Mindy Kaling’s book – eventually finishing it. It was another triumph for her, and I recommend it. I especially loved the chapter in which she has that party out in Astoria and all the drama with her nemesis co-teacher. Amazing humour.

Returned to the hostel, showered off all the sand, and made my way up to the roof to witness the sunset and try to blog. Some randoms up there engaged me in conversation, though – which I (almost) always welcome – but in this case, they seemed like scammers and I didn’t enjoy their company. Luckily, eight o’clock came, I excused myself from the chat, and began my new habit: getting as many tequila cocktails as I could within the hour. I asked somebody if I could sit near her, and as it turns out – she was the friend of somebody I had talked to earlier, down in the lobby! Serina was her name, and we ended up hanging out the rest of our time there – and even in my next stop, Tulum. She and her travel bud were from Saskatchewan – I met a weird amount of Canadians during my trip. Birds of a feather, maybe?

So she and I gab, get to know each other, rub aloe on ourselves, and capitalize upon the happy hour. When I go to get a refill, I ask somebody who is sitting there alone what he is drinking, since it looked pretty fancy. Turns out it was a paloma (grapefruit + tequila), which seemed like a wise enough choice – so I invited him over to sit with us. I also made that offer to somebody else, an adorable Argentine, but he was just waiting for his friends to come up. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I might as well do a good deed. So Serina, bar-guy, and I are all sitting around and enjoying each other’s company, and then this other girl comes over and asks if she can join us. Hmm, another bold one, huh? OF COURSE YOU CAN! And I’m SO happy she did, because she was phenomenal. Her name is Meg, and she is from Australia, and she and I still talk. We hit it off right away and ended up having so much damn fun together. I miss those wild carefree nights in a big way, since I don’t really have them here in Ottawa. Alas.

The first night, we all just chit chat, drank some dranks, and have a good time. I make a point to get to know the bartenders and tip them for each cocktail, to facilitate the rest of the happy hour and the proceeding nights as well. My buddies didn’t do that and were still served – but whatever. 20 pesos for a strong tequila-orange is still quit the bargain, and the two barmen were fun, interesting guys regardless. So that’s me, always being friendly and giving good gratuity. What goes around comes around, right?

Meg ends up chatting with someone else, and our English friend goes to bed early, so Serina and I head to El Fogon (an authentic, well-reviewed, affordable hole-in-the-wall taqueria) for some drunchies. It was all so cheap and so good that I ate at the place four times during my three days in Playa. Completely worth it. And then it’s back to Lobo del Mar to crash.

 

Day 4: Playa

I wake up, hit up the free breakfast on the rooftop, and fortunately run into my new favourite person, Meg! She gives me some advice on cenotes, which are certainly one of the best things about the Yucatan Peninsula. They are sinkholes in the limestone filled with rainwater (or groundwater, or both). So they become natural swimming holes, completely mystical places that look like something out of a Tomb Raider movie, and many of them feature caves and stalactites and other things you can marvel at, through Scuba diving or just splashing around. I adored them, and ended up visiting three throughout my stay.

She recommended Cenote Jardin/Garden del Eden, so I get a collectivo and head right there. I also grab an iced coffee on the way, because the hot, instant stuff at the free breakfasts wasn’t cutting it. And en route, I strike up a conversation with my seatmate, who was an American who had recently relocated to Tulum. I pick his brain about what to do around those parts, but am cautious to annoy him. You know, second-guessing myself like usual. But it was an enjoyable and educational talk, for sure.

I get to Eden, walk down the dirt path… And find out it is closed. On a Saturday, of all times! If you’re going to pick a day to close each week, and you’re a tourist destination, then why on earth would you pick Saturday? Makes no sense to me.

So that’s a let-down. Fortunately, Garden of Eden is situated super close to other cenotes – Crystal and Blue – so I choose the latter, Cenote Azul. Pay my 80 pesos and was immediately transported into a magical natural wonder. Words won’t really do it justice, but it was phenomenal and so picturesque. Crowded too, admittedly, but there was still room to breathe.

So I spend the afternoon there, and it was marvelous. I eat my picnic lunch, start a new book (The You I’ve Never Known by my favourite author, Ellen Hopkins), swim around, take lots of photos, don’t give a rip that I’m in a Speedo when nobody else is, see a certified Olympian, people-watch, and also do two things that scare but also thrill me. I jump off a cliff, maybe 15 or 20 feet above the surface, and I free-dive through an underwater tunnel with various air pockets. And once wasn’t enough, so I repeat the experiences numerous times, even if I the rocks in the tunnel scratched me and smacking the water from that height stung a bit. But I loved it.

I also get a “fish manicure” for the first time, which is where these lil guppies come and eat the dead skin off your feet. It tickles, sure, but it’s adorable. These “fish spas” were also set up in booths along La Quinta for $20 US, which is ridiculous, since I got that stuff for free.

And one more story, so you can laugh at me. As I’m setting up my phone on self-timer, trying to capture a good photo for my daily gratuitous Instagram post, traipsing through the shallows to simultaneously get a nice pose and ideal lighting with only ten minutes to get in position… I misstep, my leg goes into this unseen hole between these rocks, all the way up to my knee, which scrapes my shin up good and gives me quite the bruise. It hurt, certainly – and I felt nauseated on account of the pain – but it was pretty funny. I wish it happened to somebody else, so I could witness such a hilarious accident from an external perspective. But it’s cool, ‘cause I can laugh at myself too. And I am fully aware it could’ve been much worse. My leg could’ve broken, or there might’ve been some scary monster with huge jaws at the bottom of this hole, or I could’ve dropped my phone in the water in the process, so…. I’ll take what I can get. It’s all healed up now, of course, and what’s life without a little misadventure?

I head back around 3pm when I’m getting hungry, flag down a collectivo on the side of the highway, and ride on back to Playa. Stroll around more, check out a thrift shop, spy a Quebecois bar (with poutine, Canadiens gear, and “tabarnak,” so comical), and look at menus to decide where to eat dinner. I end up at this place on the corner by my hostel, recommended by the desk workers and with a discount – but I have my doubts. Skeptical as ever. I double-check with TripAdvisor, though, and that convinces me enough to give it a try. Glad I did, too. Iced coffee again (since I knew I’d be having mucha tequila a bit later anyway), freshly-made guacamole, and fish ceviche. Which I had never really tried before, even if I did spend a summer in Peru. And let me tell you, it was all delicious. The restaurant had a great vibe, too. I wrote in my journal and watched the people around me and had a constant grin on my face. Also, incongruously, the place had this pool in the centre of the eating area, and there was some random boy swimming during my entire meal. Lolwut? Why? Whose kid is this? Hilarious.

Then back to the hostel, shower off, put on clean / non-sweaty clothes, rub aloe lotion on myself (as I am still peeling), and get ready for *~happy hour~*. I head up early to get a good seat, use the WiFi to catch up on Scrabble, respond to the folks back home, and upload that douchey IG photo while awaiting the 8 o’clock witching hour and for my friends to arrive.

Veronique, another Canadian I met while abroad, shows up, and we sit with another guy in our room, from Russia. Eventually Meg, Serina, and her pal Chelsea show up (no English guy though, and Argentine guy was with his friends and thus unavailable – but still looking so comely), and it becomes another great night. It’s much more crowded because it is apparently “Ladies’ Night,” but that doesn’t stop me from getting my fill. I even have Meg time me while I down it as fast as possible, reppin’ McGill’s Carnival with a six-second chug. I sing Scottish drinking songs for Meg and Serina, and we are all fabulous bad influences on each other.

This night is more successful than last, in that we actually have a contingent that goes out and hits the town. We seek out a nearby karaoke bar only to find out it is closed, and then wander down La Quinta, seeing what catches our fancy. And let me tell you, there are some LOOOLLLLs throughout the evening, that still make me smile when I remember them.

• V and her hilariously unflattering romper, dancing in this random rock bar.
• Chelsea giving the waiter her number, and having me teach her how to say “Eres guapo” to facilitate this.
• Meg borrowing V’s bike, pedaling away, and shouting, “Adios!”
• Meg & I going into a tequila tasting shop, and when the guy asks us which we want to try, she says “todo,” trying to get like five free shots.
• The random convenience store that had the same prices for drinks as the bars did.
• Us sitting in a Mexican karaoke bar, so annoyed with all the sad Spanish ballads they’re singing (but impressed with some of the voices, including an apparent YouTube star), until Meg & I go up on stage and absolutely slay “Pretty Fly for a White Guy.” Actually. We had the other patrons singing along with us, clapping, and even recording our amazing, upbeat, laughable performance.
• Me leaving the group to check out the local gay bar (Club 69, because of course, what else would it be called?) for a second, convincing the guy to let me in just to look around – he says “Tienes cinco minutos” – being massively underwhelmed with it, so hurrying back out to link back up with the girls.

And let me tell you, I am hustling back up Fifth Ave to find them, worried that they got lost and were in some random unsafe alley or dangerous situation, and I never do catch up. And in my rush to get back to the hostel to averiguar their safety, I unfortunately do not buy any street food to end out my night. Sad! But the important thing is that they managed to get back all in one piece. I honestly don’t know how I didn’t pass them, but maybe they ran back in order to evade me? Who knows? (But I doubt that).

—

Well, this entry is already over 4200 words. And it is definitely no longer the day after I filed my taxes at all – but all the same, I am still at Starbucks, just had a grande iced coffee, and am at a lil sidewalk table. There is no way I can write about everything I experienced in Mexico in one entry. And I just realized that I’ve never done that – when I was in Italy, I was always writing shorter updates on my adventures while riding on buses from city to city. So it’s cool! No sweat!

So we’ll wrap it up here, for now, and pretty soon I’ll upload some photos to my Facebook. To give you that true, multi-media experience.

One final point – this week / this life has continued to be hard, and yesterday was a difficult day. I found myself legitimately tearing up at yoga, out of frustration or pessimism or sadness. I’m not sure. But! All’s well that ends well, because I successfully managed to apply to not one but two jobs last night. One at Carleton and one at Algonquin College. So maybe there is a future for me here in Ottawa yet! I didn’t get the Camp fYrefly gig, but I am still hopeful about the reality TV show and the government job. So keep your fingers crossed for me, if you will. Because these empty days, spent in my room all alone, are getting real tiresome.

And don’t worry, I am making a change as well. I can’t expect things to improve if I don’t make an effort or change my ways, right? So I am trying to do exactly that. Hence why I’m at Starbucks, enjoying today’s beautiful weather, instead of cooped up in my apartment.

 

That’ll do for now, cochinita. Hope all is well with all of y’all!

 

Hasta la próxima,

 

– Jefe

Work Woes, Career Hope(s), & A Spontaneous Trip to Mexico

Hola hola hola!

 

So as most of you probably know, due to my gratuitous and douchey and wonderful Instagram posts, I am currently in Mexico! Traveling around for twelve days. Olé! (And if you don’t follow me on IG, then you’re missing some fire. It’s instagram.com/tommytopaz if you’re curious)

And right now, I’m on a night bus from Valladolid to Merida, which is my penultimate town. After two nights in the “American Capital of Culture,” I’m taking yet another long bus ride back to Cancun, sleeping two nights (and doing several amazing things – more on that later), then hopping on my plane back to Canada. And I am not looking forward to it, to tell you the truth. These past couple weeks have been magical, and I’ve enjoyed myself so much. I’ve been wanting to visit Mexico for years now, and I finally made it! It’s so great to get away from icy old Ottawa and the stress it brings me.

Of course, though – as they say – one of the best (or better, I guess) things about traveling is coming home. In that, you can’t miss something if you never leave, and you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone. Meaning the comforts of home, the convenience, the familiarity, the stasis. So there are things I’m excited about returning to – like my own bed and weekly board game nights and… That might be it. I haven’t been gone very long, of course, so I’m not missing things too much. Naturally, it’d be nice to see or hang out with some of my friends from back in O-Town (Colum, Amy, Dean, Elena, Luke, Tim, Kai, Eleanore, Eliot), but to be frank, I’d rather be in some exotic country and gaining new experiences than doing the same-old, same-old. Nothing against those people, but I crave adventure and excitement. And I’ll be back soon enough, so fret not!

I intended to write a blog update while in the airport before flying south, as I was wont to do during my travels in Europe. Because I wanted to write more fully / wax indignant about my experiences at the Canadian Centre for Gender & Sexual Diversity, to get it out of my system and close that chapter, move on to bigger + better + brighter things. However, I don’t want to get in trouble for doing so, or bad-mouth my previous employer, or really go back and worry about all that stuff again… SO, suffice it to say, I am not 100% pleased with how things turned out with the CCGSD.

I moved to Ottawa for that job, when I have no family or network or support structure there, at all – and I saw myself being with the organization for maybe 2-4 years. Which I soon enough revised to a year and a half, to finish out the first grant for the Sports Inclusion Program. I wanted to stick with it, commit, do a great job, educate 7000 people about LGBTQ+ topics, and build an unshakable foundation for the Program and its (hopefully) illustrious future.

Things started a-changin’, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I was wracked with indecision and second-guessing myself, not knowing what to do or what call to make. I spoke lots with my parents and friends (mostly Enbal, love you En-doll) about it, wrote in my journal, and did some deep thinking. And I decided: I am not in a desperate position, not backed into a corner. There are other options for me, and I do not absolutely need this job. I am super fortunate to have two post-secondary degrees from reputable institutions, a good amount and broad variety of work/life experience, youthful vigour, driving passion, and money in the bank. I live fairly simply and am not profligate with my spending, so I have managed to accrue sufficient dinero to pay for rent + food for a while.

And the whole situation was stressing me out and weighing me down, and it was just so unnecessary. So I resigned. However – because I care about the Program (still do) and believe in the positive effect I/we/it has on people, particularly LGBTQ+ youth – I offered to work an extra week or two, to ease the transition to a new Sports inclusion Coordinator. This was still before my three month-iversary with the Centre, mind you, so by the Employment Standards Act, I was not required to give any notice at all to quit. But if I talked the talk, I had to walk the walk – be a man of my word. I wanted to be a decent person, end on a positive note, and take the moral high road. So that is what I was willing to give them.

Then they asked if I could work four weeks instead, because the transition would take longer that I offered, so I (tentatively) said yes. And then the next day, it became five weeks (two weeks for the job posting to be live and to collect/review applications, one for first interviews, one for second interviews and hiring, and the final one where I would be training my successor). And still I agreed, and signed a new contract holding myself to that. And that is what it was gonna be.

But you know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and (wo)men. I ended up having my last day on Tuesday the 21^st – so I didn’t actually train my replacement, after all was said and done. I was finished, dunzo, without further obligations… But still I wanted to do more, because I do want what’s best for the Program. So in lieu of educating my successor tête-à-tête, I volunteered to write up a transition document, to (try to) impart all I’ve learned about the position and all I believe they should know when they start as the new Sports Inclusion Coordinator. I didn’t have to do this, and maybe I shouldn’t’ve bothered after all – but I considered it valuable to do (since I didn’t have any real guidance when I began as the SIC), and I wanted the new me to start off on the best foot possible. So I don’t regret it, and I do hope they benefit from it. Absolutely they’ll learn something, so I’m glad I took the time to create that document. It would’ve been better to train them in person, since I am an educator, after all – but something’s better than nothing.

—

And now I’m done with the CCGSD! A free agent! Untethered & unfettered!

Also, on my last official day with the organization, I just happened to have an amazing meeting with a VIP in government scheduled for the afternoon. So I went home, dropped my stuff off, brushed up on the notes I had taken during my research for this meeting/potential job interview, mouthwashed, and got myself in the mindset to charm, sparkle, effervesce, impress. Then I strolled in the beautiful spring weather to a towering office building, was signed in by one of my contact’s employees, slapped on a visitor’s pass, and sat down with the Senior Director of Diversity & Inclusion and Employment Equity for one of the governmental branches. And let me tell you, it went phenomenally.

She was also bubbly and happy and excited. I fed off her positive energy (and maybe vice-versa), and we had a great time together. I couldn’t stop smiling. Her upbeat, sunny mood was infectious, and she was saying the nicest things about me, my experience, and my résumé. The field of Diversity & Inclusion in government is going to blow up / massively increase in effect and importance in the new future, she believes, and this is especially the case for the LGBTQ+ angle. She (and indeed, the government) needs passionate and knowledgeable people to come in, educate others about the importance of D&I, help guide the development of the policies, and assist in the creation of a better, more representative, and more supportive future for government and the nation. She was impressed with my CV and expertise and wants me to be involved – and I want the same, definitely. She was so sweet, of course – but she was also determined and dedicated and really believes in this cause. I respect that, completely.

The issue is… There is no current position opening for this. Or funding, either. And creating such a job will take time, and filling it presents its own obstacles. In order to hire somebody external (i.e. me), she’ll need to demonstrate how she went through the entire public service and didn’t find anybody suitable for the role. Which, to me, seems like an arduous task. How big is the public service, right? In Ottawa, certainly – but also nationwide.

I wholeheartedly believe I am a qualified individual and strong candidate and great person for many positions in various fields, don’t get me wrong. I know that – but the difficulty is helping others see that, to take a chance on / put their trust in me, to allow me to rise to the occasion and impress them, do them proud. I know I can do it, and that when you give me responsibility, I will teach myself and work hard and strive to do the best job possible. I have a strong work ethic, and I want to do well. That drives me.

So we’ll see what happens. From what I understand, she is trying to see if she can create a position for me in her department, and to figure out how she can fast-track the application and external hiring process so it won’t take months. (Because of that governmental bureaucracy, natch.) And I believe she is also circulating my CV around to her contacts, such as those in the Canadian Human Rights Commission. And I have my two friends Michael and Denis pulling for me in their respective areas, too, of which I am hugely appreciative. I have a coffee klatch set up for three weeks from now thanks to this, so I’m looking forward to that. I have other feelers out as well, and several applications I have submitted or will complete in the near future. Essentially, I’m on the job hunt again – but not super intensely (just yet). Instead, I’m enjoying Mexico to the fullest.

And on that note, I should get going. We’re almost to el centro de Merida, and I gotta pack my computer away. Also, remember that time I said I wouldn’t write about what happened with the CCGSD? El oh el, me too. But it feels good, it feels right. So I’m pleased about that.

Ciao for now – and I’ll try and write all about this fabulous trip when I’m at the airport on Monday morning. Hopefully the Cancun departure area will have a legit café, because Ottawa’s certainly didn’t.

 

Hasta pronto,

– Jefecito