All Gone South

Life as a tour leader is one of constant change. A revolving door might be the closest comparable job. You're in a new town every other day, sleeping on a different bed in a different hotel, with different wifi speeds and different water pressures (sometimes none). One moment you're sardined in a beat up school bus, rocketing across the Belizean countryside, the next you find yourself airborne in a tiny motor boat, clinging to life on a Guatemalan lake. Sometimes you've got your feet up on the dashboard of a nice air-conditioned van, staring out the window with your headphones in on a hot afternoon in the Yucatan (my personal favorite). Some roads are windy and full of potholes, others are smooth and straight. Sometimes it's raining, sometimes it's dry. You are forever packing and unpacking your bags. Some nights are hotter than hell and others you swear you can see your breath as the AC gives its best Antarctica impersonation. Some days you're sipping rum

You're in the process of finding your footing while crossing a colonial era cobblestone street in flip flops. You clutch your phone in one hand as you look down at where you're stepping while simultaneously checking to see if that Guatemalan chicken bus is going to acknowledge you or simply keep accelerating with secret hopes of plowing gringo meat into the pavement. They chose the latter, but you don't run out of the way. You simply pick up the pace by walking just a little faster, narrowly avoiding the fume spitting, "Jesus'd out" rickety school bus without even batting an eye.  And why should you? You have to reserve dinner at a restaurant you've never been to because your usual "go-to" options are closed, so you need to check the menu for prices and options before taking your group. It's also important to know step-for-step exactly how to get there because you cannot for one second look like you don't know where you'r

Tacos al Pastor in Playa del Carmen, MX Nothing is more awkward, frightening, and fun at the same time like your first few days in a different country. People usually don't like to admit this, but it happens to everyone. Sometimes you don't even have to leave your home country to feel it. Even in the extremely touristy Playa Del Carmen, it happened to me. In spite of all the time I've spent living in Latin America, that uncomfortable sense of foreignness still tugs at me whenever I clear customs. It's a familiar sense of awkwardness that I've come to embrace while traveling. Mexico in particular likes to slap you right in the face. It's walking out of the bus station onto the jam packed pedestrian  Quinta Avenida  in Playa to be greeted by a welcome party comprised of  tour operators, restaurant greeters, oblivious tourists, "massage" ladies, and drug dealers. It's loud. Muffler-less cars with tinted windshields blasting " Mi Gente &