Yucatan: Caribbean and Mayan Magic

On the face of it, it seems like a day like any other, the alarm goes off at the usual time and instinctively you think you have to go to work. Then just a moment is enough to bring your mind back to a completely different reality. The door of Federico's room, in front of us, is open: he left yesterday evening with his grandparents, oozing joy from every pore. Today he'll go off in the camper, for the first time after winter, and for this he was happy, even though, unfortunately, unaware of the fact that the ones truly leaving will be Sabrina and I. For this we apologize to him right now, for another time, the last, we believe, and we hope that one day he'll want to forgive us for all of them. We frankly didn't feel up to subjecting him to over twelve hours of flight and seven of time difference, as many as separate us from our destination: the Yucatán, in Mexico.

Despite some contrary opinions regarding the trip, we regularly set off and shortly after 8:00 we're on the road... "the die is cast", as a famous commander said. We "ride" our blue Punto heading south, defying an annoying fog. We travel the A14 motorway for a very short stretch, as far as Cesena, then we follow the signs for Rome, the city from whose airport we'll take the flight that will carry us to our destination. The E45 gradually climbs towards the Apennine watershed and near Quarto the fog thins out, giving way to the sun. Everything goes smoothly as oil, apart from a detour for roadworks that makes us lose a good quarter of an hour. The clear sky accompanies us as far as Verghereto then, beyond the pass, the horizon darkens with clouds: no big deal, our hope is to find better weather elsewhere, maybe on the other side of the ocean.

We constantly follow the Tiber valley, whose bed we cross several times, at first it's little more than a stream then gradually it becomes more and more of a river. At Orte we take the A1, which we follow until we merge onto Rome's great ring road, a handful of kilometres now separate us from Leonardo da Vinci airport in Fiumicino, where we arrive around 12:30. We leave the car in a paid parking lot and get on the first available shuttle to reach the terminal. It's the first time we've departed from Fiumicino and for this reason we're a bit disoriented. While we wander in search of the Alpitour desk we call home: our noses grow visibly longer when we tell Federico that we've arrived in Milan and that we're looking for a parking spot since we'll stay for at least fifteen days to work (lies aren't always told with bad intent and we hope one day, our son, will understand).

On the screens the Lauda Air flight L41943 is shown as perfectly on time, at 16:10, but we're not fooling ourselves, we know very well that it's still too early to say. We start checking in the luggage and a small problem arises: Sabrina isn't on the passenger list, she was probably registered with the wrong name, the plane is full and the staff fear that someone might be left behind... they mutter a bit among themselves and hand us the boarding passes... that's done too! Given recent travel experiences we don't believe our ears when we hear the boarding call right on time: the Boeing 767 of Lauda Air lifts off a few minutes after 16:10 and in no time at all it's above a snowy white sea of clouds. We see land again as we fly over the Alps, cloaked in an equally snowy white blanket of snow.

Later, below us, the city of Bordeaux is perfectly recognisable, located on the wide estuary of the Garonne: from this point we begin to fly over the Atlantic Ocean and the next strip of land we'll spot will be America. Many hours pass, spent as best we can among the limited entertainment an aeroplane can offer, then below us a light, it's an island, that of Bermuda, located at one of the vertices of the infamous "cursed triangle". I stay at the window for a while: perhaps I'll have the pleasure of seeing an unidentified flying object or some other strange phenomenon, or, much more likely, I'll "only" have the pleasure of seeing a magnificent starry sky. We land, again perfectly on time, at 21:40, at Cancun airport and the queues begin to collect the luggage but above all to get through customs: tons of useless paper get stamped and signed.

Then a button awaits us which, through a strange mechanism of chance, turns on the green or red light of a traffic light. Everyone ahead of me presses it: green... green... green... still green... my turn... red!... I've won the lottery, I have to open my suitcase! Fortunately they don't start rummaging and they immediately have me close it again. Finally we're outside: the air is warm and humid, and at first even not too pleasant, but I think we'll get used to it soon and on departure, certainly, we'll miss it. We get on the bus that will take us in just under an hour to the Bravo Club El Mandarin, where we'll stay for the entire duration of our stay. On our arrival the ritual celebrations begin: music, cocktails and big welcoming greetings.

In Mexico, due to the time difference, it's still 23:30 on Saturday, in reality we've been on our feet for over twenty-four hours and tiredness is starting to make itself felt, for this we don't feel like celebrating and only want to be assigned our room. We're granted this and, almost immediately, they give us the keys to room 3301, where an attendant accompanies us. Shortly after the suitcases also arrive... and we can finally rest.

It's all the time difference's fault: despite the tiredness, shortly after 6:00 we're already up, there's no point in tossing and turning between the sheets with no more sleep... better to go out for a little walk, since the sun is already high. We look around a bit: the village seems very well kept and welcoming. We reach the beach: on the ugly side, but we already knew this, right from home, and we spared ourselves the disappointment, after all, unfortunately, less than two years ago it was devastated by a hurricane that shortened it by a few dozen metres, they're working to rebuild it but it will be hard to replace nature. We walk to the right of the village and with pleasure notice other people, with quite pale looks, strolling along the water's edge: evidently we weren't the only ones who could no longer sleep.

We have to kill time at least until the hour when they'll let us have breakfast and that won't happen before 7:30. Punctually we show up for our first hearty morning buffet: before our eyes every good thing is laid out, we don't need to be asked twice and we fill our plates. It's there that we meet two young people from Jesi: Roberta and Gianluca, also on the first day of their holiday, also awake for a while and, among other things, our room neighbours. We chat until the scheduled time for the inevitable briefing, by now a fixed appointment on every trip, a bit boring but very useful to start organising our ideas about what to do.

We meet two more young people, also from Jesi: Corrado and Maria Grazia, together we book the excursion for the following day, then we head to the beach, where we spend some time between the Jacuzzi and a dip in the pool, relaxing in the warmth of the first rays of sun. In no time it's almost lunchtime. At home they'll have returned from the weekend by now and perhaps it's time to let them know how the trip went. We go to the room and try, in vain, several times to get a line, until, resigned, we reach reception and explain the problem. They ask us to write our number on a piece of paper, they lift the receiver and in no time at all they pass it to us while the phone rings at the other end... darn, it seemed impossible and yet... We reassure everyone, we hear Federico's voice and more relaxed we go to lunch.

The village tries to make up for the lack of a beach by providing a free shuttle, in order to reach one not too far away and thus satisfy the guests' craving for the sea. Curious about this, in the afternoon, we get on a bus headed for Coco Beach. The beach is located practically right behind and slightly north of the city of Playa del Carmen, for this reason relatively crowded and nonetheless beautiful. Too bad the sun soon goes away behind the clouds, with the result of making the air rather cool and the sea not too inviting for a swim. Around 18:00 it's already starting to get dark and we head back to the Mandarin. We take refuge in the room for a relaxing shower, then we laze around until dinner time. The evening offers a musical that unfortunately we can't follow in its entirety: what wins is the devastating effect of the time difference and therefore sleep.

We drag ourselves off to the room early to complete that sleep already partly consumed on the uncomfortable theatre chairs.

PART ONE

The alarm is set for 6:30 and this isn't a problem given that in the morning we still can't sleep, the real problem, in fact, seems to be the weather conditions: the sky is overcast and threatens rain. A day at the sea doesn't await us and therefore the presence of the sun isn't indispensable, we're nonetheless about to tackle the excursion to the archaeological site of Chichén Itza, the most important in the Yucatán, and we'd be a bit put out at the idea of having to visit it with the aid of an uncomfortable umbrella, not to mention the loss of atmosphere the whole thing can have if seen in conditions similar to the current ones. So we have breakfast while waiting for departure as it starts to drizzle: the wind is blowing from land and generally that's not a good sign.

Around 7:30 we get on the first available bus together with Gianluca and Roberta, while Corrado and Maria Grazia dawdle for various reasons, with the result of ending up on the second bus. A bit sorry about this, we set off while it starts to pour: over two hundred kilometres separate us from our destination and all we can do is hope for a sudden change in the weather. We follow the highway north almost as far as Cancun, then turn left, inland. If for us it doesn't seem to be the best day one could wish for, it's even less so for a poor badger, which, to the driver's great sorrow, ends up under the wheels of the bus. It stops raining while we travel, by now for some time, along an endless straight road: to our right and to our left the landscape is flat and monotonous, covered by low and thick tropical vegetation.

It can't have changed much since the day the first Spanish conquistadores landed asking the natives where they had arrived and, hearing them reply "yu-catan", which in the Maya language means "I don't understand", they believed that was the name of the region and from that day on they called it that. The road journey is rather boring: at times we can't resist the temptation to close our eyes. The only diversion is crossing a symbolic customs post between the states of Quintana Roo (where we come from) and Yucatán, which together with that of Campeche form the Yucatán peninsula. These three states, together with twenty-eight others plus the federal district of Mexico City, form the Federal Republic of Mexico. When we arrive in the parking lot of Chichén Itza, around 10:00, hear ye, hear ye...

the sun is shining beautifully! A few minutes later we're at the foot of the great pyramid, which the Spanish called El Castillo. More precisely it's the Temple of Kukulcán, one of the major Maya deities. The god is represented in the form of a feathered serpent, and this symbol appears on the balustrade of the stairways on each of the four sides of the pyramid. The construction contains in its structure numerous references to the measurement of time: the most evident is represented by the four stairways, each composed of 91 steps, for a total, including the upper platform, of 365, as many as the days of a year. And once a year, on 21 March, at the spring equinox, the play of sunlight on the balustrade of the north facade creates the illusion of a serpent slithering downwards.

The event is still considered auspicious today and, for the occasion, tens of thousands of people gather on the site, making the visit almost impossible (for this reason even though we'll still be in Mexico on that date we've decided not to take part in the event). Another curiosity is that inside the pyramid there is... another pyramid predating the one that towers over it. So we climb an narrow and oppressive staircase up to the top, where there's a small temple guarding the statue of a jaguar. The visit is definitely not recommended for those who suffer from claustrophobia and the return to the open air almost feels like a liberation.

The external staircase of the pyramid, conversely, is not recommended for those who suffer from vertigo: the steps are built with a ratio between tread and riser of practically one to one, with the result of having an inclination of about forty-five degrees. It's still worth climbing to the top to be able to enjoy a breathtaking panorama over the entire archaeological site, all in an atmosphere of great suggestion. All around there are numerous other buildings, among which a large stone platform completely decorated, in a macabre way, by rows of skulls, which might have been the place destined for the display of the heads belonging to the sacrificial victims. A short distance away is the so-called ball court, inside which a strange ritual game took place between two teams competing for a rubber ball without using hands and feet, only with the aid of hips and shoulders.

The stone rings placed at the sides of the field were the targets, and so far nothing particularly strange. The incredible thing is that as a prize the winners received the honour... of being decapitated! One certainly can't claim that the champions of this sport had long careers and, above all, we find it very difficult to understand the meaning of the game. Still on the theme of human sacrifices, one can visit the Sacred Cenote: a deep natural well into which the chosen ones were thrown in honour of the rain god Chaac.

PART TWO

Not far from the pyramid extend the remains of the grand Temple of the Warriors or of the Thousand Columns, while in a more distant area one encounters the Observatory: the Maya were attentive observers of the sky and the fascinating thing about this building is its resemblance to modern observatories, the great difference lying, instead, in the fact that in those times there certainly were no telescopes but only patient calculations based on repeated direct observations. We continue the visit while a strong wind picks up: the sky quickly clouds over again and so the fear of an imminent downpour rises. In haste and flurry, while everyone runs away, I also manage to see the so-called convent (Las Monjas): a beautiful building completely covered with enigmatic stone decorations. In no time at all we reach the bus, but of the rain there's no trace...

darn, we could have taken it more slowly, at most we would have... got wet! We have lunch in a nearby restaurant, entertained by some folkloric dances, then we take the road back. We travel a few kilometres until we reach a remote village in order to visit a characteristic little market (a sort of tourist trap). Even before having us get off, the guide has a child board the bus holding an armadillo in his arms: he says he caught it himself, he also says it's edible and therefore for sale. Thinking about it, it could be a nice souvenir, even though I have reason to believe we might have some problems at customs. The best thing would be to buy it and then set it free, but in the end we settle, like everyone, for taking a souvenir photo, naturally upon payment of a small fee.

We buy a bottle of Mexcal tequila, the original one, with a worm included in the price, then we get back on the bus and set off again. After a few kilometres we stop again, this time in the old colonial town of Valladolid, all gathered around the main square, on which the ancient Catedral de San Servacio faces, almost entirely built, according to what the guide says, with material salvaged from the archaeological sites in the surroundings. The stop in Valladolid lasts no more than half an hour, a bit little, considering the fact that there would be other things to visit in the immediate vicinity, but there are still about two hundred kilometres to cover and the sun is now low on the horizon line.

Along the return journey we soon give in to the temptation to sleep, with the result of arriving at our destination still at the mercy of sleep and therefore rather dazed when it's just past 20:00. We catapult ourselves under the shower and, later, we go to dinner, then we conclude, albeit wearily, a day that in many ways has been memorable.

It's incredible: we really can't sleep until the scheduled time and I turn off the alarm again before it even manages to ring. Nothing wrong, outside a magnificent sun is shining and a day of complete relaxation awaits us on the Mandarin beach. We claim a sun umbrella and go to breakfast. We return shortly after and comfortably take our places on the sun loungers, then the friends from Jesi also arrive. The women lie in the sun, we men, instead, don't resist for long and are eager to kill time. To start, a deck of cards is enough: a big game of scopa... Gianluca against Gianluca, Jesi against Forlì... Forlì wins, indeed, wins big! Then we get involved in a game of water polo... and we lose with honour. We meet two more young people: Paolo and Adriana, from Alba (Cuneo): now we're eight, the right number to rent two cars.

We go to reception and, after a brief negotiation, we conclude the agreement, with the Budget official, which will allow us, the next morning, to set off, motorised, to discover the surroundings. It's almost noon, the right time to call home: we manage it from the room, not without difficulty and after various attempts. Sabrina and I bounce the phone receiver back and forth several times, listening with extreme pleasure to Federico's voice, while a common feeling grips us: missing that little rascal. There are moments when I truly feel bad at the thought of being here having fun while he, unaware of what's happening, is at home, albeit in good company. Despite everything I continue to believe that what we're doing is right. We return to the umbrella: our friends have gone for a walk along the beach. We join them and, later, together, we go to lunch.

The afternoon seems very short, between repeated swims in the pool and just as many cocktails: the sun sets and we almost don't notice it, we're so comfortable, but we don't resign ourselves... we turn on the floodlights on the tennis court and try to hit a few balls, until the gastric juices make their demands, and we have no choice but to satisfy them. The evening ends in the theatre, in front of a pleasant cabaret show, put on by the entertainment staff.

The weather really seems to have turned nice, a magnificent sun is shining and we go out, backpacks on our shoulders, ready to pick up the car and set off to discover Mexico "on the road", though not before having consumed, however, an abundant breakfast, during which we take the opportunity to prepare a sort of packed lunch. To this end Gianluca shows up at the table with a plate crammed, to the point of the unbelievable, with omelettes and sausages with which he stuffs an exaggerated quantity of bread. We do the same thing but in a more limited and not "inhuman" way. We then carry out all the formalities that will allow us to pick up the car, indeed the cars. I sign a pile of paper, all written in Spanish and therefore without knowing its contents... let's hope for the best. We proceed with the checks: we inspect the bodies palm by palm, pointing out the smallest dent.

Gianluca, the most meticulous, engages in a discussion with the car rental attendant about half a notch more or less of petrol, given that we'll have to return the vehicles, the next morning, with the same amount of fuel. We're perhaps overdoing it, indeed, in fact the situation seems to have become a small source of amusement and there's no point in continuing further. It's almost 9:00 when, finally, they hand us the keys. We get in the car with Paolo and Adriana, leave the village and start travelling along the road heading south. Behind us follows the car "registered" in Jesi. The ribbon of asphalt passes Playa del Carmen and continues parallel to the coast following, constantly, an imaginary straight line, curves are a real rarity and practically never less than 170 degrees.

Every now and then, on the edge of the road, a sign warns you reminding you not to get distracted from driving. After about an hour we reach Tulum, the first destination of the day, where we'll visit the archaeological site of the same name, one of the most famous and spectacular of the entire Maya world. A large shopping centre, crammed with souvenirs, is the prelude to the actual visit: the tourist business knows no limits and a folkloric group performs the "Show of the Voladores", an ancient rite invoking rain (let's just hope it doesn't work!), then a little train accompanies tourists to the entrance of the site, cunningly located at least a kilometre away (those who want can also walk!). By now at our destination I realise I've lost a piece of the video camera: I take another ride on the train, fortunately find the piece and reach the others at the ticket office.

During my absence they saw a snake, in all likelihood a coral snake, very common in these parts and, among other things, extremely venomous... better to gloss over it and devote ourselves to visiting the site. Tulum means "walls", and it's an appropriate name for one of the few walled settlements built by the Maya. We enter passing through one of the five gates that are found along the perimeter of the fortification and immediately before our eyes appears the Temple of the Frescoes, at whose corners of the main facade stand imposing masks, probable depictions of the rain god Chaac. The archaeological site is scattered with numerous remains of buildings, among which enormous iguanas scamper, undisturbed. Everything is dominated by the silhouette of the Castillo, built almost sheer above the sea, justifying what would have been its main function: that of a lighthouse.

The panorama enjoyed from the cliff is one of those unforgettable ones with the intense blue of the sea and the blinding white of the beach, in sharp contrast with the dark rock surmounted by the unmistakable silhouette of the Castillo. You'd want to stay in contemplation for the entire day, but the continuous and frenetic comings and goings of tourists soon distract the mind from overly lofty thoughts... it's starting to get hot and our desire for sea and coolness grows. We get on the little train and return to the shopping centre. We buy a phone card and call, from a public phone: we dial the number, the phone rings, Sabrina talks and then hangs up... simple, like drinking a glass of water!... darn, why from the village does everything have to be so terribly complicated?! Meanwhile the others linger far too long among the souvenir shops and it's almost noon.

We finally get in the car and travel a handful of kilometres until we reach the Xel-Ha park: a small wonder of nature, a sort of inland lagoon, even if edged with rocks, perhaps a small fjord, but we're in the tropics and not in Norway, a kind of lake, but the water isn't fresh, nor too salty either. The place is so particular that there was nothing else to do but designate it a natural park. At the entrance a sign recommends not using sun creams so as not to pollute the water and consequently poison the fish. A large and noisy array of brightly coloured parrots welcomes visitors. We go and settle on the shore of the wonderful stretch of water and immediately, even before lunch, despite the now late hour, we put masks and fins into action.

It lacks a bit of transparency but there's certainly no shortage of fish, they're very numerous, of a thousand colours and, above all, tame, accustomed as they are to the presence of tourists. Among these stand out numerous Napoleon fish, rays and barracudas, not to mention the turtles, always at the top of the preference for sightings. After lunch we decide to do, on foot, the tour of the entire park. We follow the shores of the lagoon anticlockwise and at every step we discover a more suggestive corner: it feels like being in a Tarzan film, with the thick vegetation covering high rocky walls overhanging delicious blue lagoons. Some of us couldn't resist the temptation to feel, at least for a moment, the king of the monkeys and tackled an adventurous dive from at least four metres high.

By now at the end of the tour we found ourselves having to tackle an insidious floating bridge placed to connect the two shores of the lagoon, near the open sea. The waves, today rather high, make the bridge a ribbon practically at the mercy of the sea and crossing it was an experience that for some was fun and for others anything but pleasant. When the park is about to close its doors we're still revelling lying on comfortable hammocks, we'd like this day never to end... instead it inexorably draws to a close. We head back towards Playa del Carmen when it's now dark, and there we stop to top up the tanks. A petrol station attendant cleans my window and won't leave until I tip him and it was useless to tell him that the next day I wouldn't need that clean window anymore.

We arrive at the Mandarin and rush to take a shower and get dressed to go to dinner, a dinner that tonight will be typically Mexican, or, at least, it should be. In fact we weren't too enthusiastic about the menu, too soft to be... Mexican! We really want to overdo it: we get in the car and reach Playa del Carmen, but by now we're too tired and, after no more than two hours, we're already back. I hand all the keys to Corrado: it will be him, tomorrow, who returns the cars, since Sabrina and I will be setting off again, bright and early, for another excursion.

None of the friends will follow us on this day of excursion at sea, each of them will have had a good reason to give it up, let's just hope we made the right choice and don't have to regret spending the one hundred and sixty dollars necessary to take part. To start with, the weather seems to be our friend, the sky is free of clouds and dominated by the sun. We get on the bus that will take us as far as Cancun, from where we'll set sail towards our destination. During the journey a gentleman, rather annoying, complains and rants about the air conditioning... you almost feel like hurling him out of the window! With our ear canals decidedly dilated we arrive at our destination, get off the bus and board the motor vessel that will host us for the entire day.

While waiting for departure a Mexican photographer immortalises us, in turn, in the company of a small parrot, in the hope that then, on our return, we'll buy the souvenir photo. We finally set sail: at least two hours of sailing separate us from Isla Contoy, a tiny strip of land located a few miles from the north-western coast of the Yucatan, declared a natural park and ornithological reserve. A steady wind is blowing and the sea is rather rough, so, almost halfway through the route, the continuous swaying of the hull begins to claim its first "victims"... our stomach, fortunately, doesn't fall prey to seasickness and we don't mind that at all. By now in sight of the island we drop anchor near a shallow seabed, put on life jackets, masks and fins and dive in to go exploring the surrounding coral reef.

The current is very strong, we swim against it with difficulty and considerable expenditure of energy. The fish fauna isn't abundant, apart from a large school of fish with bluish reflections, in compensation we notice numerous varieties of coral, among which stand out the wonderful "fan corals", in all shades of colour, from fuchsia to purple. The return to the boat is child's play, with the current in our favour we swim in Olympic final times. We arrive in the main bay of Isla Contoy: beautiful, all lined with palms and candid sand. We dock at the pier and disembark. The island is completely deserted if one excludes the horrid reinforced concrete construction of the visitor centre, where we leave our backpacks to be able to take part, more comfortably, in a brief guided visit.

We climb a small hill so as to be able to see two seas: on one side the placid Caribbean Sea, blue and inviting, on the other the Gulf of Mexico, darker and rougher. The latter carries out a continuous action of erosion on the north coast, while, instead, to the south, thanks to the currents, the sand accumulates with the result of making Isla Contoy, in practice, an enormous "raft" moving towards the mainland, a "raft" crammed with cormorants, pelicans and, above all, frigatebirds, of which we visit a large colony. Despite the mating season being now over some males still inflate their conspicuous red throat pouch as a mating ritual.

Not far away, among the palms and the low vegetation, numerous land hermit crabs scamper, undisturbed, while in the water, a few metres from the beach, two rays, having become friendly with the tourists, let themselves be touched while they swim among our feet. We have lunch in the company of the iguanas, always very happy to take part in the banquet, then we go to the beach to spend some time in complete relaxation. We take the opportunity to open a coconut and, then, savour its fragrant flesh, with our eyes full of wonder at the sea in front of us. So the time comes to return on board and leave, reluctantly, the island, even if the excursion can't be said to be over. We are, in fact, dropped off, after over an hour of sailing, at Isla Mujeres, and this, probably, only for the purpose of making us spend a few pesos in the numerous souvenir shops.

Not willing to do so we go to the port to see the ferry times, since we intend to return to the place, but in a different context and with more time available. When we set off again for Cancun the sun is setting and when we arrive there it's pitch black. A member of the crew bids us farewell and asks us to leave a tip: in the morning I had lent him a pen and, with a thousand apologies, I never saw it returned... it's a matter of principle, he can consider that pen, of little value, as my very personal tip! On the way back to the village I desperately try not to fall asleep... but I can't manage it and so I keep Sabrina company. We arrive once again dazed, at the Mandarin, around 20:00, just in time for a shower before going to dinner and meeting the friends. The evening features a musical centred on the Oscars night.

On this subject each spectator is labelled with the name of a famous person: I'm George Michael and Sabrina Naoni Campbell, a strange couple, strange but also tired, after an entire day spent at sea.

It really is Friday the 17th and, perhaps also for this reason, after two whole days of excursions, we've decided to spend one, of complete relaxation, inside the village. We're not particularly superstitious, but if we had had to choose a day not to go out, all conditions being equal, we would surely have chosen this one. We go to the beach bright and early, to idle under the umbrella, until we decide to take a walk along the beach. We walk for a long time in the company of our friends, until we reach a nearby village: the Posada del Capitan Laffite. In this stretch the sea is decidedly more beautiful compared to that in front of the Mandarin and, frankly, we feel a bit of envy. We take a few photos and set off on the way back: it's divine, a delicious breeze blows from the sea and, therefore, the sun doesn't burn on the skin, or at least doesn't give the impression of doing so.

Every now and then a pelican or a frigatebird passes above our heads, they're beautiful, they seem to float in the air while letting themselves be carried by the wind. We pick up two large coconuts with the intention of eating them later: they should be good, but Gianluca doesn't trust it and asks confirmation from a Mexican passing by. On arrival we dive into the pool. In the company of Corrado and Gianluca I take part in a water polo match, while Sabrina relaxes on the edge sipping something fresh... and it's almost lunchtime. We call Federico: he's enthusiastic because tomorrow he'll go off again in the camper, and this makes us happy. We have lunch at the restaurant on the beach, then we return to the umbrella to... eat the fruit. We dedicate ourselves to opening the first coconut and work without stopping until we see its white flesh.

Gianluca, greedy as he is, immediately gulps down a little piece, without noticing that the fruit doesn't give off

Gianluca shows up at breakfast whining like a baby; apparently he managed to digest the coconut, but he doesn't want to go home! His is, of course, all an act, even though deep down he lets slip, like the others, a subtle veil of sadness at the imminent departure. After all, we've always said that a week's holiday in these places is too little: hardly time to settle in and you have to pack up. You end up, in other words, swallowing a mouthful without having properly savored it, a mouthful that, instead, was worth savoring slowly... at least for another week, which we, fortunately, will do.

We'll try, somehow, to console them and we'll stay with them all day inside the village, hoping not to make them any angrier at the mere thought that they're leaving us in this "paradise." On the beach we spend the morning playing cards, beach volleyball and finally water polo (with two women on the team it was a real massacre: 20 to 8). Sabrina, Maria Grazia and Roberta spend the whole time shuttling back and forth between the pool and the sunbed, not letting a single ray of sun escape. Meanwhile I go to reception to negotiate the rental of a car for the next four days, I get a good price (maybe) and go back to my beach activities. We have lunch and go back to the beach. The friends from Jesi are at the end of their stay and shortly afterward they leave, to return later in "civilian clothes." We exchange addresses and phone numbers with the promise of meeting again in the near future.

We walk them to reception and say goodbye around 19:00. We then go to the room to wait for a phone call that, however, is slow in coming. The phone finally rings when we had already given up all hope: it's 20:30. On the other end of the line is Ivan, who says he had some trouble with the area codes... we believe him and make arrangements to meet up after dinner. We get into a taxi heading for Playa del Carmen and have ourselves dropped off near the center, then we look for the meeting place (McDonald's) and wait for Ivan, Sabrina, Monica and Salvatore. They arrive, albeit a little late. Together with them we go to a characteristic place on the beach, the "Blu Parrot," where we chat, glasses in hand, for a while telling each other about the adventures of the last few days and spending a pleasant evening.

Finally we have ourselves driven to the Mandarin and set a new appointment, this time for the morning, in anticipation of a whole day to spend together in the name of adventure.

It's Father's Day... and I, an unnatural father, am over nine thousand kilometers away from my son: an ocean divides us and the thing, to tell the truth, doesn't make me happy. Nevertheless I keep thinking that all this is right and that, deep down, Sabrina and I aren't doing anything unforgivable or scandalous. With this thought in my head I leave the room while, as has been happening for a while now, the sun is shining, and on top of that an appointment awaits us with the friends from Forlì, with whom we'll spend the day. We pick up the rental car: a green Chevy Monza (license plate 5834 TMR), a strange car, never heard of, but no matter, as long as it does its job. We note down, as required, every little detail, then we leave the village and wait along the highway. Shortly after 9:00 Ivan, Sabrina, Monica and Salvatore arrive. They park and get out of the car to greet us.

Hardly time to return the greetings and Salvatore notices he has a flat tire... we're off to a great start!... We change the tire in front of the Mandarin entrance, while an employee of the rental company passes by and advises us to go to Playa del Carmen: there we'll find a tire shop, despite the holiday. And indeed we find it: it's an ultramodern workshop, cutting-edge in every way if only we were... in the Middle Ages!... That's enough, however, to make us understand that the flat is more serious than expected: it's actually a cut and the tire can't be repaired! We decide to go on the excursion anyway: Ivan and Sabrina get in with us, to lighten the car "mutilated" by the presence of the most classic of emergency wheels, and we follow the road that will lead us to Cancun, hoping not to get another flat.

The Mexicans have a damned bad habit: they put speed bumps along the road to slow traffic, the so-called "topes," and, all in all, it would be a good thing if they didn't put them in the most unthinkable places and if, at least, they had the sense to signal them! I come across one, all of a sudden, in the middle of the highway, while I'm driving, fortunately, at only eighty kilometers an hour, too late to brake... I literally "take off"! The landing is violent and the suspension is put to a hard test, but we stay on the road and continue driving. I spend a while "listening" to the car, which seems to have withstood the impact well...

but what a fright! We cross the whole of Cancun and arrive at Puerto Juarez, from where we'll board a pedestrian ferry, and not with the car on board, as had been thought at first, to reach Isla Mujeres: literally "island of women." There are at least two theories about the origin of this strange name: the first says that the Spaniards, having landed on the island, found there a great quantity of female idols and consequently named the place, the second, more widely accepted, claims that pirates kept their women there in seclusion...

whatever the case, one thing is certain: the name has nothing to do with March 8th! We enter a guarded parking lot where we'll leave the car for the whole day, while the parking attendant, who evidently has a bigger business going than it seems on the surface, offers us the rental of a boat for only two hundred and fifty pesos per person for the whole day, so we can go around the island as we please. The deal seems advantageous, too advantageous, so much so as to raise suspicion of a rip-off. We think about it for a bit and... end up accepting. We get on the boat and immediately head out to sea. Along the way we pick up two deck chairs that had gone overboard for who knows what reason, and after not even twenty minutes we're at the pier of Isla Mujeres.

We stroll along the characteristic little streets of the center, where we had already been on the occasion of the excursion to Isla Contoy, and we take the opportunity to do some shopping, then we go back to the boat. Our first desire is to go snorkeling and immediately we are granted it and taken a few hundred meters from the port, near some rocks, where we're invited to get into the water. We're rather skeptical about the choice of location, but there are other people swimming around us and there must be a reason... and indeed there is! We are, at times, completely surrounded by a multitude of wonderful fish, not at all intimidated by our presence, and it's an extraordinary sensation! A few meters deep is the statue of a madonna, also, like us, wrapped in the invisible embrace of the little inhabitants of the sea.

We climb back onto the boat a little sorry to have had to abandon that little paradise, but it's not over... we're taken to another area and, again, invited to get into the water. We're already looking forward to the new spectacle, and instead here comes the disappointment: just a few timid little fish looking lost and a lot of effort swimming an endless stretch of sea. When we get back on board we're exhausted, and besides, midday has already passed and we feel the need to stop for lunch. We're dropped off at Playa Paraiso, a beach with facilities that seems to suit us perfectly. We relax in the shade of the palm trees and bite into a sandwich with the unmistakable silhouette of Cancun's "hotel zone" in front of us. In an enclosure, a few meters from the shore, in a few centimeters of water, a poor shark is kept, a sort of vegetable that lets tourists pick it up and then photograph it.

We avoid the thing: it's an outrage, a total lack of respect toward the animal, which, deep down, has its own dignity and which, perhaps, it would be better to kill rather than reduce to those conditions! We prefer to see fish in freedom and so we go back on board "our" boat; we want to snorkel some more, and we want to do it in the most famous place on the island: the Garrafon park, and there we are taken. It's enough to throw a few bread crumbs and the water boils with fish... it must be a marvel... a marvel that, instead, is denied us: we're told that you can't arrive from the sea and swim without having first paid the park entrance fee, we're also told that it's late and therefore time to head back. But it's only 16:00, we had been told a whole day, and there are still two hours of sun!... Our guides won't listen to reason: they turn the bow toward Puerto Juarez and head back...

there's the rip-off! We try not to get angry; after all, the day has been positive and we had fun, that's the important thing. We don't want to miss the last rays of sun so we spend a little time on the rather unattractive beach next to the port. It's dark when we arrive at the Mandarin. Just time for dinner and we're back on board our Monza with destination Playa del Carmen. It's a beautiful, warm evening. We meet the friends again and together we have fun doing some shopping, bargaining hard on the price, then we go off, again, to the Blu Parrot to round off the day in style.

The sun is brighter than ever and the only air of a storm that seems to be around is raging more or less at the height of my navel: Montezuma hasn't yet exacted his revenge but he's very, very angry. This is the last day we'll spend in the company of Ivan, Sabrina, Monica and Salvatore, as they'll be leaving in the afternoon to return to Italy. We get in the car and meet them at Playa del Carmen, where they're staying at the Hotel Tierra Maya, and, together, after a brief stop for some shopping, we follow the road south. Near the town of Akumal we head down toward the sea and take a secondary road that in a few kilometers brings us to the Yal-Hu lagoon, a protected area neglected by the traditional tourist circuits, but not for that reason lacking in interest.

We pass through the entrance gate, pay the hundred pesos required and park in the tiny available parking lot, unload our backpacks and head toward the lagoon. The body of water is beautiful and its light color contrasts sharply with the intense, clear blue of the sky; it's similar to Xel-Ha, but much wilder, there's no real resort structure, there are no chairs or loungers along its shores, so we settle on the rocks, since there's no beach either, but none of this spoils anything, in fact it helps make the place a little paradise. We spend the whole morning climbing the rocks and going back to lie in the sun, after yet another dip in the crystalline waters of the lagoon, in the company of the ever-present fish that dart around us; we're in total ecstasy and completely relaxed. Nothing happens, apart from one of Ivan's flip-flops that falls apart and leaves him practically barefoot...

we're just having fun, and that's no small thing! We interrupt our bath of peace and quiet only to call Federico, and to do that we have to leave the protected area by car, since it doesn't even have a telephone. After various adventures we manage to talk to him: he seems calm, he's playing with the transformers and has a new kite that he can't wait to show us. When we return to Yal-Hu we have some trouble with the parking attendant who wants to charge us the entrance fee again. We refresh his memory by telling him that we had gone out a few minutes earlier to make a phone call and that, moreover, we had also informed him... he thinks about it for a bit and, fortunately, remembers. So we go back to continuing our bath of peace and quiet, which, however, ends around 15:30, when the friends, reluctantly, have to get ready to leave.

Goodbyes are a must, though I believe we'll see each other again soon in Forlì. At this point our roads divide: they get in the car and follow the highway north with destination Cancun, and we too leave Yal-Hu; it's beautiful but by now we have the rocks imprinted on our backsides. We follow the highway south for a few kilometers, then turn right and take a dirt road that penetrates the forest until we reach the Aktun Chen caves. We park the car while some cute little monkeys assault us, then we set off, and reach the point where the visit will begin; we put on our protective helmets and descend toward the caves. The route is interesting and winds among stalactites and stalagmites of every shape and size, while some big roots pierce the ceiling and bury themselves in the floor, creating strange scenic effects.

Every now and then we emerge into the tangled tropical forest and then plunge back down into the bowels of the earth. The cenote, the most beautiful part of the cave, is reached almost at the end of the visit: it's a lovely little lake with incredibly transparent water in which the surrounding formations are reflected. It's at this point of the route that a monkey climbs onto my shoulders, evidently tired, and decides to be carried for a good stretch of the way. I gladly accept the role of means of transport and thus chalk up yet another new experience. We return to the village aware of having spent another extraordinary day and we stop to sip a piña colada at the edge of the pool, with the full moon rising slowly among the palm trees, toward the sky above us. We're happy but without company from this evening on, and it won't be easy to find more.

The entertainment team offers us a musical and we gladly watch it, but soon, alone, we retire to our apartments.

It's the day of the spring equinox, and a big celebration will unfold at Chichén Itza: an immense crowd will gather at the base of the great pyramid, waiting for the play of light and shadow to repeat itself and bring to life the serpent that will descend to earth once again. At that moment, we will indeed be at an archaeological site, but somewhere else entirely: we'll be at Cobá, deep in the tropical forest, in a place that is said to be infested with mosquitoes and where there's a good chance of encountering snakes. With that in mind, we put on long pants and proper shoes, even though the day promises anything but cool weather (thankfully, we can count on the air conditioning in our Monza). We head south and stop at Playa del Carmen.

We're looking for a bank where we can buy some pesos, and we find several, but all closed since the celebrations tied to the equinox are considered a national holiday in Mexico. So we continue along the highway, pass Akumal, manage to exchange some money at a bar counter, and reach Tulum. From there we take a secondary road that ventures into the interior of the region, cutting through the scrub with endless straightaways. Some deadly topes are placed near the sparse villages encountered along the route—spartan villages where, even today, people live in precarious conditions, inside dilapidated buildings, sometimes little more than huts.

We reach an area dotted with lake-like mirrors, near which lies the site of Cobá, which, not by chance, in the Maya language means "water stirred by the wind." The place, in its days of glory and power, must have been a spectacle; it was, in fact, the central hub of the Maya road system, a complex system with extremely wide roads (at least ten meters), and all to allow passage for nothing less than... people on foot! The Maya, in fact, did not know the wheel, nor did they have horses or any other means of transport! We enter the archaeological site, without even paying the entrance fee given the holiday, and within a few minutes we reach the group of ruins dominated by the Iglesia pyramid, made up of nine terraces and topped by a temple in the Toltec style. At its feet lies the inevitable ball court, impeccably restored.

The most important group of ruins, that of Nohoch Mul, is located over two kilometers away: for this reason we decide to rent, both of us, a bicycle, in order to make the visit less tiring. On this day I would have expected anything: scorching heat, swarms of mosquitoes (which aren't there), and snakes (which we'd prefer to keep not seeing), but I certainly never would have expected to get on a bicycle, and an extremely comfortable one at that, given the circumstances. The Nohoch Mul group is dominated by the striking El Castillo pyramid, with twelve levels, the tallest in all of northern Yucatán, a full forty-two meters. We climb a dizzying staircase to its summit to enjoy the magnificent panorama over the surrounding ruins, scattered throughout the forest. We stay for a while in contemplation, before leaving the summit and pedaling back along the return road.

We return the bicycles, change into more beach-appropriate clothing, and take refuge in the car to seek some cool relief (the thermometer reads thirty-four degrees!). We return to Tulum retracing the road we came by, then start looking for a beach where we can spend the rest of the day. We find it, and it's also very beautiful, with white, very fine, almost impalpable sand, blue water, and a picturesque grove of palms behind. We immediately seek relief among the waves, then devote ourselves to rest and absolute idleness for much of the afternoon, until we decide to stroll along the beach. Step by step, we get almost as far as the ruins of Tulum: not far from us, on the cliff, the unmistakable silhouette of El Castillo appears very clearly.

We still have a fair number of kilometers to cover before reaching the Mandarin, so we leave the beach even before the sun sets, so as to arrive at a time that allows us to sip a cocktail and take a leisurely shower before dinner. Otherwise, the evening drags a bit sluggishly: despite an attempt to end it at the disco, we remain a bit lacking in company, and on top of that, Montezuma still doesn't seem to be in a good mood.

It's the last day with the rental car, and we set off a little later than usual: only a handful of kilometers separate us from X-Caret park, located, in practice, on the southern outskirts of Playa del Carmen. It was built around a small natural inlet, along with some caves and grottoes, and in an archaeological area of minor importance; the designers took care of the rest, transforming it all into a large zoological, amusement, and historical park, with clear references to the ancient Maya culture. The result is an attraction with a more American than Mexican flavor, and indeed Americans make up the majority of visitors, captivated by a tourism business suited to their tastes, and which we too couldn't or, perhaps, wouldn't resist.

We pay the very steep ticket price (thirty-nine dollars each!) and pass through the sumptuous and monumental entrance, just beyond which, as if to welcome us, are parrots and flamingos: noisy splashes of color in stark contrast with the surrounding green. We immediately want to try one of the most heavily advertised experiences: a thrilling swim in the underground river. We leave our backpacks, which will be returned to us at the end of the excursion, put on fins and life jackets, then descend a staircase to the base of a deep crevice in the rock, inside which flows little more than a trickle of water. We dive in and begin to follow its course, partly natural and partly artificial. We pass through long galleries and thrilling passages, until we reach the end, all in all satisfied. We retrieve our belongings and head to the beach, a largely artificial but nice beach.

We settle in, occupying an umbrella and some lounge chairs, then organize ourselves to do the entire tour of the park on foot. Along the way, in an extremely well-kept environment, among delightful and architecturally impeccable views, among reconstructions of Maya villages and archaeological remains, we encounter turtles and crocodiles, dolphins and tropical fish of every shape and color, pumas, monkeys, and butterflies, and all of them, logically, strictly in cages. It saddens us a bit; indeed, it's the last place where we'd want to see animals, and we end up feeling, in some way, responsible and therefore partly to blame for their depressing accommodation. After more than two hours of walking, we return to the beach, while the sun also returns, having meanwhile gone behind the clouds.

We take a swim and then have lunch: it's the same lunch we've had for four days now, but it doesn't matter; even at X-Caret, all in all, it's nice. The climate and temperature are, as usual, delightful, and relaxation is guaranteed. Sabrina lazes around "shamefully" all afternoon, while I go snorkeling in the park's only natural inlet, where fish—the free ones, thank God—are not lacking, then I face the descent of another underground river (the "Maya" one), and by the time I return to Sabrina it's almost time to leave the beach to watch the spectacular "ball game," held in the park's ball court, a ball court surrounded by improbable yet indispensable grandstands packed with spectators. The match ends with no winners or losers and therefore... no decapitations: who knows, maybe even in ancient times a draw was the most common result...

in the interest of all the players! We leave the park, put the backpacks in the trunk, and get in the car. I insert the key and turn it to start the engine... nothing, absolute silence. I try again once, twice, three, four times... nothing doing, there's no sign of "life," and the problem seems to be the starter motor, since any other type of electrical circuit works perfectly. I'm about to move the car to push-start it when a guard approaches and asks what the problem is. I try, somehow, to explain it to him, so I turn the key again to demonstrate my theory... and the car starts!... So much for that; I've also made a fool of myself. We leave the parking lot and head toward Playa del Carmen. Near the center we stop with the intention of devoting some time to shopping. We wander for at least an hour among shops and stalls, buying T-shirts, knick-knacks, and costume jewelry.

In the last negotiation, we even manage to use, as a bargaining chip, a now-useless phone card with a few pesos left on it, so we leave convinced we've made good deals. We cross our fingers and hold our breath, I turn the key... and the car starts. We arrive at the Mandarin certain we've wrapped up another good day, open the trunk, and take out the back... they're not there anymore!... the backpacks are gone! Despite our first thought being that we'd forgotten them somewhere, we soon realize that we have, unfortunately, been robbed, and an initial feeling of bewilderment is immediately overlaid by complete and, all things considered, justified anger.

We immediately take a quick inventory of what the backpacks contained: the camera's underwater housing, sunglasses and prescription glasses, the car stereo faceplate, fins and masks, some clothing and the beach towels (from the Mandarin), plus sunscreens and many other seemingly insignificant but nonetheless useful things. A fine loss for us and a meager haul for the thieves. We don't know what to do and report what happened to reception: they all appear very sorry but, nonetheless, unable to do anything, except... offer us, free of charge, two more beach towels. Looking rather grim, we go take a shower, eat dinner quickly, and then return to Playa del Carmen, intending to make one last, desperate attempt: we offer some street vendors a substantial sum of money in exchange for help in tracking down the stolen goods; after all, in town, everyone should know each other more or less.

No luck—they wash their hands of it and say they're sorry about what happened too. We decide, then, to at least file a report, so we present ourselves at the police station, where they immediately begin asking us an endless series of questions, then refer us to an address to go to the next morning... Thanks so much for your concern, but let's just forget it! We get back in the car and... it won't start!... Dammit!... I try and try again several times, and... finally it starts!... That's enough now, let's go, let's put it behind us and close this damn story once and for all! We stop (leaving the car running!) to buy at least a sunscreen and a comb, then return to the Mandarin in time to catch a cabaret show, then go to bed, hoping that the night will bring counsel: the counsel not to let what happened ruin this beautiful vacation.

The night did not pass in the best way, and it was anything but a peaceful sleep: Sabrina dreamed that, when we returned to Rome, our car was gone and that we had therefore been the victims of another theft, far more serious than the previous one. Fortunately, they say dreams go by opposites. To tell the truth, we do have a problem involving a car: returning the rental and the fear that it won't start, with the resulting accusations of blame. Thank God, instead, it starts on the first try, and, more relieved, we can recount our misadventures regarding the theft to the Budget representative, carefully observing her reactions.

Some clues, in fact, suggest a link between the thief and the car rental company; otherwise, there's no explaining the fact that the trunk was opened and then locked again, leaving, among other things, the spare tire in place, and, last but not least, the total absence of signs of forced entry. But the representative, predictably, throws up her hands and says she too is sorry about what happened. We go to the beach to relax, trying to come to terms with it and move on, but it's not easy.

Now we even see Mexicans with a different eye, though aware of making a big mistake in doing so; after all, you don't need to come all this way to get robbed—sometimes, staying in Italy is enough! So we try to look on the bright side: the prescription glasses were the wrong strength, the camera needs replacing anyway, and the underwater housing along with it, the car stereo, not even equipped with RDS, was already quite old, and then... just look around, it's a magnificent day and the sea is calm, so much so that it looks beautiful even in front of the club. I spend much of the morning taking notes—the notes needed to rewrite this diary once we're home, since the original was, alas, inside one of the two backpacks. We spend some time in the Jacuzzi before calling home and talking to Federico.

His little voice runs along the line and melts our hearts when he says it's been a bit too long that he's been staying at his grandparents'... there's no doubt: he is our true wealth! The phone call cheers us up a bit, and we dive into the pool, letting ourselves go with some benevolent laughter. We have lunch, then immediately return to the beach, and while Sabrina "rations out drop by drop" the last pages of the only book she has left, I continue jotting down notes. Over the course of the afternoon, we seek relief in the pool several times, with time flowing pleasantly and inexorably once more. I try my hand at archery again (this time from eighteen meters), and it's a disaster: at least a couple of arrows miss the target. We have a snack and retreat to the room when it's already evening, take a nap, and show up later for dinner.

Finally, we end the day with a pleasant show in the theater and a brief appearance at the disco.

The alarm goes off at 8:00, catching us fast asleep. By now the problems related to jet lag are a distant memory, just as we'd like the thoughts tied to the recent theft we suffered to be distant. Today, according to plan, we should have been on an excursion to Rio Lagartos to see the pink flamingos, but given our recent misadventures, we gave it up. It's useless to deny it: the enthusiasm is no longer the same, and, all things considered, a little belt-tightening at this point is the right thing to do, especially considering that we had some doubts about the excursion's success, since it's not yet the right season to observe flamingos. Flamingos that, in any case, we did see, though not in ideal conditions, at X-Caret park.

So we head to the beach after breakfast and settle in facing the sun, in search of the most complete relaxation, interrupted only by verifying at reception the departure and flight times scheduled for the next day—times, for the moment, all confirmed. It's another beautiful cloudless day, and in front of us, as usual, we can make out quite clearly some buildings located on the opposite island of Cozumel. Some guests of the Mandarin, under an umbrella near ours, are arguing animatedly: until today they were convinced those buildings were actually cruise ships, but since they haven't moved from that position for several days, today they've finally managed to identify them as buildings—though as buildings of Cancun, a city that, in fact, is located further north along the coast, and certainly not in front of us...

They evidently don't have the faintest idea of their, and our, position on the map, especially since one of them remarks: "...imagine what the first explorers must have thought when they landed on this island?"... what island?!...we're on nothing less than the American continent!...some island! There's no denying it: they haven't understood a thing!...We, however, ideally thank them for making us smile, while we get pulled into a mini bocce tournament: Sabrina and I against all men, but the average level is rather low, so we manage to win the semifinal and then lose, with honor, the final. Before lunch, we also want to try, for the first time since we've been going to vacation villages, an aqua-gym class, an experience that evidently pleased Sabrina, since she repeated it in the afternoon.

Earlier she had finished her book, aware that if, two days ago, it had been, as usual, inside the backpack, she could never have known the ending without buying another copy. As for me, I end the day at the beach shooting arrows—I've really taken a liking to it, and some small progress is starting to show. The long hours spent in the sun make themselves felt on our skin, which burns when, at sunset, we treat ourselves to a snack at the pool bar, where, meanwhile, we make friends with a group of kids, which includes, among others, our first opponents from the bocce tournament, the ones soundly beaten and, for that reason, still benevolently mocked by their friends. It's dark, and we go to the room to pack our suitcases in view of departure. Later we go to dinner and meet our new friends, who, unfortunately, will remain such for less than twenty-four hours.

We spend a pleasant evening with them, chatting for a long time, seated at a table in the bar, before ending the day at the disco.

It's the last real day in Mexico, and, all things considered, we're happy to return home and be able to hug Federico again; nonetheless, we want to enjoy the vacation to the fullest, and for this reason, shortly after 8:00 we're already up and ready for breakfast. Unfortunately, though, big gray clouds cover the entire sky, offering no good omens. After no more than half an hour, however, fortunately, a strong wind picks up and, in no time, the sun is shining again. We unconsciously thank the god Chaac for the kind concession as we head to the beach with the intention of making the most of every remaining moment. So I devote myself first to beach volleyball and then, again, to archery. Sabrina, meanwhile, intent on getting as much sun as possible, gets up from her lounge chair only to take part in an aqua-gym class. We meet up with our friends and time flies: noon arrives in an instant.

We have a very quick lunch and immediately return to the beach. We take the opportunity to snap a memorable group photo with the strangest and most folkloric member of the entertainment staff, a kind of Mexican version of a "flower child" who wanders around the village spreading the word "happiness," meanwhile winking symbolically with his index and middle fingers. Every so often he doesn't fail to preach, throwing out phrases like: "...strength and courage, life is just a passing through...," or others with an always vaguely mystical content. The guy has always intrigued us, from the very first day, and even now, at the end of our vacation, we still don't know how to define him; one thing we know for sure: that it's time, meanwhile, to leave the beach. We go to the room to take a shower and close the suitcases before placing them outside the door.

It's 3:30 PM when we go out, in jeans and T-shirt, starting to wander around the village waiting for the scheduled departure time. We say goodbye to our friends while the irrepressible yours truly shoots his last arrows toward the target. Shortly after, at 6:00 PM, we leave the Mandarin right on time, and half an hour later we're at Cancun airport, where a very long line awaits us for baggage check-in. Gate number nine is indicated as the one scheduled for the departure of Lauda Air flight L41944, and there we go. We wait while a sign appears reading Havana and not Rome... they made a mistake, so we all move to gate number four. Shortly after, on the terminals, the flight appears departing at 11:00 PM and not at 9:40 PM...

damn, here we go, the delays are starting!...At 9:00 PM, instead, to everyone's astonishment, they board us on the Boeing 767, which takes off right on time, while the terminals still show departure at 11:00 PM... and, fortunately, they were wrong again! On the monitors in the plane, the distance separating us from Italy immediately appears: 9,221 kilometers, and this is not a mistake! It's a long distance to cover and a long time separating us from landing, so, to start, I synchronize my watch to the home time zone: just the time to do it and it's already...

We're flying at about nine hundred kilometers per hour eastward, and therefore toward the rising sun, with the result of making the night very short. The light soon filters through the windows, but we, keeping the shades tightly closed, still try to sleep, and, fortunately, we succeed. We're over Europe, and below us, only clouds are visible, clouds that thin out near Italy, revealing Corsica first and then the Island of Giglio. At this point the plane descends sharply, then lands, right on time, at 4:20 PM, at Fiumicino airport. We collect our suitcases and, shortly after 5:30 PM, we're in the car ready to hit the road home (Sabrina's dream was not prophetic, and, fortunately, we did not have our car stolen). We call to let them know we've arrived: Federico, unfortunately, has a bit of the flu but can't wait to hug us again.

We have about four hundred kilometers to cover, and, despite daylight saving time, which went into effect last night, we'll arrive in Forlì in the dark, but still in time to bring the little one home and put him to bed. In Terni, in a moment of distraction, we take the wrong road and lose a good quarter of an hour getting back on the right one, while in Città di Castello it starts to rain. The rain accompanies us all the way home, turning our thoughts to the warm Mexican sun: theft aside, we spent a wonderful vacation, in dreamlike places and, often, in excellent company. At 9:25 PM we arrive home, unload the suitcases, and twenty minutes later we're at Federico's: he's not feeling well but, unaware of where we've come from, is overjoyed to see us... don't worry little one, next time you'll be with us!