We’re being abducted.
This is always my first thought when plans go even remotely off track.
We are being brought to a second location, thus creating a more challenging trail for the police to follow.
As my husband and I sat side by side in a non-air-conditioned, unmarked van, looking out onto the ever-thickening vegetation of the Mexican countryside, I silently said goodbye to my children back in Canada.
***
In 2015 Jamie’s boss brought us to the Hard Rock Hotel in the Riviera Maya. The guy was ballin’, and because Jamie was his top chef, he treated several other managers and us to an all-inclusive resort vacation.
It was amazing.
The food was outstanding. The staff, wonderful. And the amenities this tropical paradise offered seemed never-ending. It was certainly a vacation we would never forget.
We were gifted with fancy black wristbands, showing that we were better than all the other guests.
I know how that sounds, but honestly, when you are in an all-inclusive resort being waited on and having your every whim provided, you already feel very fancy. Throw in morning mimosas and exclusive membership, and you feel as though you’re a damn God among mere mortals.
To really drive home how important our black wristbands made us, I will tell you this: when we were staying there, a certain Eva Longoria was also soaking up the sun at this resort… on the same exclusive beachfront we were!
Jamie and I, however, missed the sighting because we were too busy trying to catch the iguanas that were running around everywhere.
Oh, how disappointed I was when returning to our little cabana hut to hear the news that I had missed my favourite Desperate Housewife in all her amazing glory!
From fine dining dinners served to us by the hotel staff in Jamie’s boss’s premium member suite, to the most creamy and satisfying Mayan coffees prepared table side when we’d go out to one of the resort’s many eateries; the food and service were spectacular!
So yes, the black wristbands were a plus.
That is until you’re being brought to a second location in an abduction scenario and come to the grim realization that your fancy black wristbands mean you could be a target for a tourist-napping because bad guys might think that you’re money when really you just know the right kinds of people.
***
Jamie and I had purchased an excursion trip where we visited the ruins of Tulum, swam with the Turtles at Akumal beach and to top it off, we were to be provided with a delicious, authentic Mexican lunch.
Our guide, Yuri, was pleasant and loved to joke around. Once, learning that Jamie was a chef, and I was a writer, he changed the day’s plans.
“How about I take you for a lunch experience you will never forget,” Yuri said with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Only a true chef will appreciate it, and then your lovely wife can write an article about your experience.”
The original plan was to stop by one of the local resorts and dine from the regular lunch buffet with the hotel guests. However, Yuri seemed so excited about this new plan in accordance with our job titles it was difficult not to feel the enthusiasm lingering in the humid air.
Plus, Jamie and I are both wooed easily, and I will basically do anything for a story, so we quickly agreed.
That’s how we came to be travelling, seemingly in the middle of nowhere on a dusty dirt road. The intense sun was beating down on us through the van’s open windows, and I was sweating more than necessary because of the nearly manic idea that we were being abducted.
Yuri and the driver spoke in Spanish and chuckled maniacally (or, at least, what seemed maniacal) as we travelled further and further away from civilization. My husband speaks a bit of Spanish but can only converse effectively in the language when he is balls to the walls hammered, so he could not understand what was being said between the two.
He quickly became annoyed with me, nervously asking him to translate their conversation every three minutes.
The ditches became thicker and thicker with strange plant life I had never seen before. We had taken so many twists and turns; I knew I could never find my way out of there when ultimately I would have to run for my life from my captors.
This is the problem with being a writer. You get these stories in your head and, if given a fair chance, they become a reality even if that reality is only in the insane inner reaches of your own imagination.
These were the facts that I knew for sure:
- We were in a remote location somewhere in Mexico (I’ve always been terrible with geography, and when anywhere besides the safety of my home, I usually have no clue of my exact coordinates). This has never served me well in the past.
- Our tour guide had mysteriously changed plans and was now taking us to some undisclosed location “for the best food of our lives.” Suspicious, I know.
- No one else on the bus seemed worried. This worried me even more. Those fools! Now it would be my job alone to figure out how to save the seven people who didn’t even have a say in this kidnapping excursion.
It is a great responsibility to live a life ever-wary of every single skeptical event that befalls you. This sort of obsessive vigilance is not for the faint of heart. The rest of these adventure-seeking people (including my husband) knew nothing of the perilousness coming our way.
“Why are you squeezing my hand so hard?” Jamie asked as we neared a small encampment set up in the thick of the jungle.
I shot him a look that said, “Stop blowing our cover, you idiot! We don’t need them knowing that I know something is fishy around here!”
My sweet man had no clue what that look meant, so instead unstuck my sticky, sweaty hand from his and continued to gaze out the window.
Turns out something was fishy indeed.
I stepped out of the van with trepidation dripping off of me. Luckily, it was hot outside, so my worry was masked as a soggy glow from the humidity — but I knew the truth. I was fully expecting to have a bag thrown over my head and never see the light of day again.
Instead, Jamie and I were greeted by friendly locals, directing us towards an open-air lean-to where the most magnificent smells of cooking food were coming.
On the other side of the tree-lined cooking shack was a beautiful view of the ocean and white sand beaches.
It turns out, Xpu-ha beach is a resort, and our driver was taking us there on the scenic route. There in the trees, right off of the water, locals were catching fresh fish, hauling them into the outdoor kitchen area, cleaning and cooking the fare and serving it up in the most delicious fish tacos I had ever eaten in my life.
Being from the Canadian Prairies, fish straight out of the water was a novel experience for me, and I immediately fell in love with this delicious event.
Jamie and I sat in the warm sand, plates piled high with hand-crafted tortilla shells filled with fish, guac and tangy Pico while admiring the magnificence of the beautiful view surrounding us.
My anxiety was the furthest thing from my mind, and I thought to myself, “Yuri was right. One day this is going to make one hell of a story.”
—
This post was previously published on Medium.
***
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