Wherever we go in this Yucatan peninsula, they say, “Here it rains only for one or two days a year, and you are caught in the middle of it.”

Yet, it’s been raining for the last ten days.

Wherever we go, we bring the rain. We had already lost a large part of our rakı stock to our Mayan brothers and sisters in Chiapas. And now the raining weather forces us to drink continuously and it’s no good.

Our master Vefa Zat’s rakı  prayer ends with “I hope God doesn’t oblige anyone to live in a country without rakı.” We haven’t been to there, yet, but we can easily say: “We hope God doesn’t oblige anyone to drink rakı cautiously.” I mean, of course, it’s okay to drink rakı cautiously, but it’d better not be because of austerity. It’s okay to care for your health and not drink it till you drop or till you start speaking nonsense. But it’s not okay to drink and wait the moment we’ll be left without a drop of rakı. Rakı should flow effusively and it should be you who decides to drink less. I mean, isn’t it cool to decide to drive 60 km/h with a car that could go 400 km/h?

At least we found a moment it stopped raining and finally swam on our last day in Tulum. Even Fikret, whose love for water is not more than a cat’s, swam. For Nur and me, getting out of water was the more difficult part.

And there are these incredible iguanas. They are everywhere. You want to grab them as if they were cats. I tried, actually. I can’t say it worked.

Everything here made us speak some touristic sentences like “Oh God, it’s like heaven in here.” It was nonsense and unbecoming to us.

After we left Tulum, we didn’t want to ruin our “it’s-like-paradise” mood and chose one of the places the foreigners here call “cenote.” It was the first time I heard the word. And it was the same with Nur and Fikret. It says in Wikipedia: “a sinkhole with exposed rocky edges containing groundwater.” And it is typically found in the Yucatán peninsula.

You may go on trying to understand this explanation, but I will call them just “pools.” It won’t be correct but will be easier than saying “a sinkhole with exposed blah blah…”

In short, we found the coolest them all, Cristalino Cenote, which we thought suited us the best. Of course, my friends immediately got into rakı mood. Yet, I objected and gave them an envying look as being their driver who could not drink, and they didn’t insist.

They organize diving tours in these pools. All of them have small caves. And the underwater flora and fauna are magnificent. Yet we didn’t go that deep. We laid down our asses, swam, and had a delightful time.

Fikret, of course, was afraid to be dissolved and didn’t swim. And Nur, as always, just couldn’t get out of the water. I wandered around aimlessly. And the fish were very domestic – too domestic in fact. At first you get enchanted when it feels like they all kiss you. But then the ticklish feeling becomes too much and you start to feel discomfort. To avoid it, you have to move constantly, and that means you have to swim. That’s what we did. Then we were back on the road.

There were three choices on the menu. a) Playa del Carmen; b) Cozumel Island; c) Isla Mujeres (Island of Women)

First we asked around. Then we opened our holy book Lonely Planet. It said, Cozumel is fine, but only for diving. We didn’t like that. For Playa del Carmen, it said something like it was the place the fittest people of Europe visited and they sometimes accepted Americans if they were fit enough. We were intimidated. The only place left to go was Mujeres. It said in the book, it was the place to go directly if someone had time to visit only one island. And since a friend had said good things about the place, we had nothing to do but hit the gas pedal of La Kukuracha.

There is a funny reason for the island’s name. Once the Spanish pirates “fed” their women here to keep them away from other’s eyes. That’s why it was named “Island of Women.” I am not sure if it is myth or not. I asked about it on the island, and they confirmed it. They slightly grinned while saying that. But I am not an expert on facial gestures, so I will tell what I heard.

When I say “Island”, don’t expect some place like Cyprus. It’s just 8 kilometres long and a few hundred metres wide. There are post hippies in some parts, cheering gringos in some and cheerful Mexicans in some, and they all live along happily. I don’t know about the “Women” but it’s a place to let yourself go.

And that’s what we did. Yet this is what happened on our first night: someone came over and said in Turkish, “Can I have a cigarette, brother.” I would have given the cigarette right away without realizing the weirdness of the situation, if he hadn’t giggled.

Ahmet, who heard us speaking Turkish, is a tradesman in Grand Bazaar in İstanbul. He gave his heart to a Mexican girl three years ago and since then Mexico has been his second address. We spoke in Turkish with Ahmet, in English with his girlfriend, and in Tarzan and Jane language with her parents for a while. Of course what I say only describes Fikret and I. Nur spoke fluently. And remember Osman in Merida… We couldn’t understand this Turkish-guy-falling-in-love-with-the-Mexican-girl formula.

But we were unhappy for not offering Ahmet some rakı. We wanted to organize something for the weekend, but that plan also failed because Juan, a friend we met in here, had to go back to Cancun. And it’s not easy to organize rakı tables in Mujeres, since it’s not a place that you can order a glass wherever you go like İstanbul.

By the way, these Mariachis look a lot like the Romani street musicians in İstanbul. The only difference is that they wear costumes and play “La Bamba” continuously. They are everywhere. But we had kept them away in San Cristobal, and we did the same thing in here.

The next day, Nur had the energy to wake up early and go for diving. Fikret and I let ourselves loose in the streets of the island. First we went for sightseeing among Mayan ruins. There wasn’t much to see. Then we headed to the caretta farm. It’s just like its name indicates. The island is a natural breeding area for carettas. Yet we learned that these poor carettas die mostly in their first or second years after they are born. And this is where they try to pass that time without having any trouble. Then they are sent out intı the ocean.

The carettas in the pools looked said, as they seemed to be trying to get out of there. But we weren’t sorry for them. We thought they lived long and they were going to have a long time ahead to forget all about here.

We also spent some time by the aquarium of seahorses. They are a wonder of design. You know, incredible figures… The female seahorse deposits the eggs in the male’s pouch, and the male fertilizes, and carries the eggs until they emerge. It means, the male gets pregnant. And they are very romantic. I mean, since they are thought to be monogamous, one can guess they are romantic.

We thought we should drink rakı out in the open air while we were Mujeres, and we found a silent beach to do so. I’ve always been a fan of drinking rakı during daytime. In fact, some alchologs say, if rakı disrupts your working, stop doing your work. Of course, after drinking, we had a Mexican style nap.

And these people have no problem with driving drunk. Because they drive around in golf cars, which are as small as aspirins. If they have an accident, they can leave their car and walk, and they wouldn’t lose their speed by doing so.

Cancun was very crowded the next day. They say 4 million gringos visit Cancun, where 500,000 people live. Wow. So, as tired drifters, we preferred to stay in our hotel and drink – very cautiously.

Then came the time to say goodbye… First we delivered our dear car La Kukuracha and our dear GPS Juan Carlos. And we got on a plane and came back in DF, Mexico City. Then we sent Nur off to Buenos Aires. You know, she had been wandering in South America for the last seven months. She gave a small one month break in Central America. And now she is back to pick up from where she left. And for us… All we could have was this short one month in this continent. Sigh…

Yes, we are coming to the end of our trip. Every good thing has an end. Sigh, again…

I think the title of the next entry will be “Mama, it’s over.”

Have a good day.

Photos, as always: Fikret Bekler