Chichen Itza: definitely worth the 6:00am wake up

I first heard of the ancient Mayan ball game Pok-ta-Pok when I visited Chichen Itza. Whilst taking pictures of the impressive Great Ball Court in the ancient city’s complex, I found myself within earshot of an informative tour guide enlightening a group of paying families and travellers.

Eavesdropping. A tactic I had employed all morning at Chichen Itza to learn all that I could whilst avoiding the cost of an expensive tour guide. My budget has gotta last 5 months after all.

With me hovering a respectable 3 metres away, the tour guide began to explain the ball game to his eager group.

Pok-ta-Pok was played by the ancient Maya all over Mesoamerica, and it is considered by some to be the first team sport played by humans.

It’s like a mix between football and basketball, except much more brutal. The aim of the game was for the two opposing sides to try and hit the 4kg hard rubber ball into 5m high stone hoops placed at both ends of the court. The catch? You could only pass and shoot the ball using your thighs and hips.

Great Ball Court at Chichen Itza. Spy how high up the hoop is on the left wall.

As if that’s not enough, the real catch was what happens when the game finishes.

The tour guide went on to explain that the captain of the winning side would be beheaded in a human sacrifice to the Gods.

That piece of information and my subsequent reaction nearly gave away that I was eavesdropping.

“Behead the winner? Why not behead the loser?” barked an American tourist from the group, with a very American response.

The tour guide laughed, “Pok-ta-Pok wasn’t only a ball game, but also a religious ceremony, or a chance to settle warring noblemen. It was honourable to be sacrificed and would take the winning captain to the afterlife”.

It’s not often you feel sorry for the winners.

So, when I arrived in Mérida a few days later and heard that there would be a public demonstration of Pok-ta-Pok (without the gory aftermath, naturally), I couldn’t say no

Hundreds of people packed into a make-shift ball court outside the city’s beautiful cathedral, and we witnessed not only a truly thrilling game of Pok-ta-Pok (honestly, get it in the Olympics), we also witnessed a Mayan purification ceremony and live music.

Pok-ta-Pok game in Mérida

Throughout the demonstration, a speaker described in Spanish the meaning of various rituals, translated Mayan chants, and further explained the game. I had kinda zoned him out a bit to concentrate on the game, but snapped back when I heard him mention una bola de fuego (fire ball) would be used for the next round. At first I thought I misheard, but then they started lighting the 4kg rubber ball on fire. RIP to the people sitting in the front row.

Like some sort of Harlem Globetrotters troupe, the players passed around the fire ball and then slam-dunked in through the hoop. Hardcore stuff.

FIRE BALL!

The Pok-ta-Pok demonstration is easily the best thing I’ve seen in my first few weeks here in Mexico, and that’s saying something. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it was a truly unique cultural experience.

Well, almost unique.

Myself and some people from the hostel were sitting and watching the game from the stands with our gordita tacos (a taco with the tortilla split open and loaded with filling, as if it were a mini pitta).

Tacos. What an incredible invention. A delicious food that’s synonymous with Mexico. They come in all sorts of flavours (my current favourites are estilo baja (beer battered fish) and cochinita pibil (pulled pork)), and price points (the cheaper the better). And as trivial as it sounds, so far tacos have been a big part of many memories from my first couple of weeks here.

Tacos have my heart

Taking it all the way back to my second night in Mexico (aka my first real night, cos I pathetically fell asleep at 19:30 on my first night after a long day of travelling), I had my first set of actual Mexican tacos with my Kiwi kindred spirit Micky.

After arriving in Isla Mujeres as a zombie the previous night, I woke up ready to just chill out on the beautiful island. As I sunbathed (read: got freckly and stayed the same shade of pale) on the pier, two girls came over to swim and we all started chatting. One turned out to be on her last day of a 5 month trip (hello future me), and one had also just arrived to solo travel Mexico too. The latter turned out to be Micky, a girl from New Zealand living her best life on back-to-back ski seasons in Canada and travelling in between.

Micky and I went out for tacos that night at a relatively boujee restaurant (Isla Mujeres is stunning, but it is a 30 minute ferry ride from Cancun, so expect touristy vibes). I got al pastor (spit-grilled pork), Micky got veggie tacos, and we bonded over solo travelling, Covid pushing back plans, and long distance boyfriends.

First tacos on Mexican soil

Micky turned out to be heading south after Isla Mujeres too, so for the next week we crossed paths and met up in Tulum and Bacalar, explored beaches and cenotes, I gave her lessons on basic Spanish, and of course, ate more tacos together.

Micky: the woman, the myth, the legend!

Micky continued south into Belize as I headed back up north to Valladolid, but we hope to cross paths again in Oaxaca in a couple of weeks!

I think solo travelling can often be viewed as scary or lonely. Going on a long trip by yourself to the other side of the world, you often don’t know what to expect. Before I left home I was getting a little bit scared about whether it’d be easy to meet people and make friends. Although I do cherish my alone time (only child life), I also think of myself as a sociable person, so I knew finding friends to grab a drink with or just walk around a city with would be a priority.

In reality, it’s been so much easier than I thought. Out here in Mexico, there are so many people solo travelling, and everyone is in the same boat: we all want a bit of company. Humans are social creatures after all.

On my first full day in Bacalar I went to los rápidos with Polly - a lovely English girl I had met at my hostel about 2 hours beforehand - along with 6 other people she had met travelling. She just asked me if I wanted to join them. I said yes. And we went. It’s really that simple.

Hostels really are a godsend for making friends. With people I’ve met in hostels I’ve done so many things from a walking tour in Mérida, a catamaran sailing trip in Bacalar, to a shameless margarita-fuelled night out in Tulum (#playAbba).

Ooo friends! Travelling friends!

In fact, I think I’ve met more people solo travelling than I would’ve done if I came out here with friends. So far I haven’t felt lonely at all, and it’s refreshing to meet so many like-minded people.

Having said that, it’s not been all rainbows and butterflies and singing round the campfire with new friends so far.

Everyone says that July-September is the worst time to visit the Yucatan Peninsula due to the rainy season, and although I’ve been pretty damn lucky with the weather so far, the humidity is an absolute killer.

I don’t want to gross you all out, but it’s gotta be said. The heat and humidity combo means that the sweating is something else.

You just put sun cream on? Too bad it’s 35 degrees and 90% humidity and you’ll just sweat it all off within minutes.

Just had a shower? You better relish that refreshed clean feeling for those 2 whole minutes until you start sweating again.

Look at that lovely shine

So consider yourself warned. Mexico during the rainy season is no joke - be smart and go in January.

Another thing I didn’t know before I came here was that sun cream and insect repellent are banned in certain areas. In a Peninsula where the UV index often hits 11 or 12, this was not great news for a ginger with mosquito-bite ridden skin. Not even my P20 all day Factor 50 could save me from burning as I went snorkelling in Cozumel.

The main culprit for these non-Lottie friendly policies are cenotes.

Cenotes are essentially large natural sinkholes which over time have filled with cool, fresh water to create beautiful natural pools. There are thousands of cenotes across the Yucatan Peninsula, and fascinatingly, they are access points to a complex and interconnected subterranean cave system.

To protect the delicate ecosystem of the cenotes, you have to shower before you enter to wash off any nasty chemicals from sun cream or insect repellent. Makes sense, right? Just be wary you don’t spend too long in direct sunlight whilst you’re there.

No cerveza, no sun cream, no insect repellent. What's a girl to do!

Once revered by the ancient Mayans as sacred wells that lead to the underworld, cenotes are now magnets for tourists, including little old me!

I was lucky to visit 4 cenotes during my time in the Yucatan and Quintana Roo: Cenote Azul and Cenote Carwash near Tulum, and Cenote Ik-Kil and Cenote Oxman near Valladolid. I would thoroughly recommend them all (not only are they beautiful, they’re also a very welcome cool-down from the aforementioned heat and humidity).

Left: Cenote Azul. Right: Cenote Carwash.

Left: Cenote Ik-Kil. Right: Cenote Oxman (spot the rope swing).

If I had to pick a favourite, it would have to be Cenote Oxman. The tree roots above cascade down into the cenote below, and the light catches the water and dances on the walls, making you feel like you’re in Avatar. But that’s not the best part.

The best part is undoubtedly the rope swing.

At first glance, it seemed a bit precarious. The rope swing attendant with a sullen look on his face, as the umpteenth tourist goes to the edge of a rickety platform a good 2.5m above the water and desperately tries to grab a slimy piece of wood attached to the swing (trying and failing to catch it = new ick unlocked).

After a nervous first go, I was ready to go again. And again. And again.

I felt like a kid at a playground, and myself, Leyha and Nicole (2 girls from the hostel) all took it in turns to get the perfect action shots. We even had a hand at operating the rope swing ourselves when the attendant decided he’d had enough. It wasn’t as easy as he’d made it out to look though, and as a collective group of tourists we really struggled, much to his amusement when he did return.



Speaking of struggling, there is one particular afternoon from my trip so far which is basically just one big fail: my bike ride in Tulum.

Let’s set the scene. It’s 3pm on a Saturday afternoon: 33 degrees and 80% humidity, but it’s nice and sunny. My hostel is in downtown Tulum, which is surprisingly far away from Tulum beach (1.5 hours walking to be exact), and I wanted to visit the Tulum Jungle Gym down on the beach before it closed that day at 5pm.

Although the walk is quite far, it only takes 30-40 minutes to bike down to the beach, and given my hostel let you rent bikes for free, I thought that’d be my best bet at visiting the Jungle Gym that day before it closed.

So, I packed a little tote bag (first mistake) with water, towel, and other essentials, including the ginormous bike lock the hostel had given me, and off I went at 3pm (second mistake).

For context, Tulum is a very bike friendly city. Everywhere you look there’s a beautiful, beachy, boho girl biking through the streets, with the wind in her hair and without a care in the world.

Now, let’s just state the obvious: that was never going to be me. No matter how hard I tried to be the beautiful, beachy, boho girl, I’m sadly more the red-faced, sweaty, ungraceful girl, and that’s at the best of times. And this was not even the best of times.

Firstly, the bike. The back breaks were broken, the left pedal kept sliding off, and the handlebar was way too far down so I ended up hunched over the entire time.

My (semi-broken) chariot awaits.

Secondly, the bag. I don’t know what possessed me to think that a tote bag would be good to take with me on a bike ride, but it was the bane of my life. Slipping off my shoulder every 3 seconds, I ended up squeezing myself into the straps to wear it like a very tight satchel, which kind of made me look like I was doing an old-school paper round. Very boho chic.

Thirdly, the weather. Although a 40 minute bike ride along flat ground seems like it should be a walk in the park, the heat and humidity makes it feel like a marathon. Stops off in the shade were desperately needed.

With the sun beating down on me, and the bike defects, I was thankful for the cycle lanes. Until the cycle lanes stopped. The road on the Tulum beach is just about wide enough for 2 flows of traffic, and oh man, is there traffic. All the fancy hotels and beach clubs are down there, so there are taxis galore acting like they’re in Fast and Furious, overtaking and weaving in and out when they can. Carnage.

Me with my little shit bike and no helmet was absolutely terrified. I nearly got knocked over twice (I’m okay, Mum), and had to get off and push the bike for one particularly narrow stretch of road where it looked like death might await me if I continued riding.

When I finally arrived at the Jungle Gym all hot and bothered - which, by the way, is only accessible through a beach club, so I got lost for a few minutes - the guy at the counter looked concerned for me. By this time it was 4pm, and the gym closed in the next hour. That was absolutely fine by me, because by that point I just wanted to sit down on a bench in the shade for a few minutes. Less fine by me was the $30 USD entry. But I hadn’t gone all the way down there for nothing. You win some, you lose some.

Tomato red, sweaty, and muddy. Clearly ready for the gym.

The gym itself was pretty damn cool - all the equipment is made from stone and wood, so it looks like where The Flintstones would go to the gym. However, a recurring thought loomed in the back of my mind during my gym session: I have to do that bike ride back to the hostel.

Fitness Influencer Mecca

As the gym closed and I confronted my fate, I had become slightly optimistic for the way back, as the weather had cooled, so I thought I might be fine.

What I forgot was that I had literally just finished a gym session, and was therefore tired and hungry. 10 minutes into my ride back I was sweating buckets again and starving. Stopping off at one of the more normal-looking restaurants along the fancy beach strip, I subsequently spent 45 minutes cooling down and having some food. The pitiful looks from the waiters were exacerbated by me being the only person in the restaurant at the time. Miren a la pobrecita guera.

The rest of the ride back was as smooth as it could be under the conditions, and I was extremely happy to part with the bike when I finally returned to the hostel. Think I’m going to avoid more cycling on my travels after that stint.

I write this post as I settle into my hotel in Campeche, a city on the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, hotel - my first private room in 2 weeks, the quietness was almost unsettling as I drifted off to sleep last night.

Reflecting on the past two weeks, I really have had an amazing time. The best possible start to the trip. I’ve seen so much and done so much already, it’s felt a bit like a whirlwind.

That being said, there is the other part of me which wishes that I could’ve stayed slightly longer in each place. Travelled a bit slower, as it were. All the zipping around from one place to another has made the past 2 weeks feel more like a holiday with pit stops, rather than travelling and getting to know places. The holiday vibe was also enhanced by being surrounded by tourists everywhere. You’d think that Americans would be the biggest tourist demographic here, but it’s actually the Dutch (by a looong way). For a small country, the Dutch really get around.

Campeche Old Town

With these things in mind, as I travel through a slightly less-touristy Mexico, I’ve decided to slow it down a bit. Spending longer in places, I’m hoping I’ll feel more settled, and can get to know a place better.

Next stops after here are Palenque, San Cristobal de las Casas, and then onto Oaxaca and Puerto Escondido. I cannot express how excited I am for Oaxaca - the street food capital of Mexico - to continue to make memories with tacos!

Spanish update: I started off strong, chatting often with locals and feeling the language flooding back. But, after days and weeks socialising with other travellers in English - because they largely don’t speak any Spanish - it’s started taking a hit again. Need to branch out from my gringo bubble ASAP.

Tan update: freckles have gone mental. My face, shoulders, and back have a nice healthy glow, but the Garnier has washed off so I’m now frighteningly pale everywhere else on my body. So, I look a bit like a patchwork quilt. Not great.