Tulum

Last month, a friend and I went to Tulum. Located on Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula, it is among one of the most beautiful places I have seen.

Staying at a boutique resort carved into the jungle and facing the Caribbean Sea, we spent a week in repose. Far from the cacophony of the city that has somehow encapsulated us for years, we were still. Time seemed to pass more slowly, leaving us with the feeling that if we stayed longer, we would live forever.

Over the course of the week we visited Tulum Archeological Site, ruins of an ancient Mayan city that remain present in a past not so long ago. We also explored Cenote Sac Actun, an enchanting source of life for so many, and stared into the faces of mammals that could not stare back. On several occasions we made trips to the town, either to go to bars or restaurants or any number of shops that lined the main street. We got lost in a live music performance that we had all to ourselves, overcome by emotion by the Mana cover that was sung upon request. We tipped excessively.

We discovered that by doing less, we experienced more. Afternoons spent on an uncrowded public beach faded into evenings at the resort's pool. One day, we stopped for lunch at a cabana. Once seated under the thatched roof, a massive downpour began. We were quickly joined by two German tourists, and a French woman staying at the hotel. Ordering the shrimp and fish tacos, we watched as the sky darkened and opened and cried and became light once again. With the light the tears gradually subsided, and everything appeared to be a bit brighter. The contrast was breathtaking.

The contrast was breathtaking.