There wasn’t a day on this trip that I didn’t go outside to greet the sunrise. Being as far West as you can get in this time zone, the late timing (nearly 7am) certainly helped. But the quiet time for reflection, shared with one or two other early risers was intoxicating. Part of me thinks I’ll want this to be a part of every trip - or maybe at least those with a view.
Initially I’d been booked at a different hotel, strategically placed beside where Leo and Amy were staying. The morning of my flight I got a panicked Whatsapp from the concierge explaining that due to electrical issues, they’d had to cancel my booking and move me to another lodging a mile or so down the beach. I was nervous from the start, afraid of what to expect. When the taxi couldn’t find the hotel and the woman at reception asked me to pay with Zelle, I was sure I’d been scammed. But the room was lovely and balcony and a hammock from which you could see a sliver of ocean through gently waving palms, so I shrugged off my discomfort and wandered next door for dinner. The live band and tacos further set me at ease.
As it turned out, I was grateful for the change. Small and quirky and without the frills of a restaurant or bar, del Sol was my kind of place. Tucked in a private cove with an overlook, it featured a seaside platform that I climbed each dawn for sun salutations and each twilight for stargazing. I looked forward to breakfast and the kind older woman who worked there each morning, and the interaction of cheerfully exchanged pleasantries in broken Spanish as she doled out colorful spreads of beans and eggs and cafe con leche.
Post-breakfast, I started each day with a walk along the beach to Leo and Amy’s hotel, often stopping at the sheltered cove beyond the abandoned resort to watch the pelicans dive head-first for their own breakfasts. Peering into tide pools, I saw striped and skinny flute-like fish, hermit crabs and a shiny black eel. There were terns and seagulls, and I listened to their chattering overhead as I collected pieces of coral bleached by the hot sun.
At night after days filled with socializing and inspiration shopping and spa visits, I walked home along the same path, shrouded by darkness and guided by moonlight and the reflection of stars on the waves.
On my last night I pondered why I feel safest in the dark, when the feeling of inky blackness scares so many other people. Is it because of a rural childhood and the learned security of being tucked in the shadows where you can observe the world without anybody noticing you? Or perhaps just my own life-long love of quiet anonymity.
It is the quiet beginning and ending Tulum moments I’ll remember most fondly.