So I drove out of Campeche in one of those foolishly optimistic moods. I’d gotten an early start, only 45 minutes behind schedule after getting massively lost on my way out of town. (Note to tourism bureau: wacky, curvy perspective is not appreciated on city maps. I still have no idea how I got anywhere near the airport.)

I was aiming to cruise through Ciudad del Carmen (“Why are you going there?” asked every single person I mentioned it to. “It’s in the book. I have to go,” was my rather weak answer) and on through Escárcega, an equally unappealing town, and arrive at a little cabaña place near Calakmul by sundown.

Oh, folly. One can only ever be an optimist if one doesn’t look at a map and really assess distances. Anyway, all I saw in Cd. del Carmen was horrific traffic and the world’s creepiest Day of the Dead altar (piles of dirt arranged in a rectangle on the floor, with some candles set into it, and a row of black feathers dangling from twine at one end—is this really traditional, or does Carmen have a huge Goth scene?). All I saw in Escárcega was a marginally better new hotel.

And then it got dark, and there was construction of the sort that requires such dramatic rerouting that there are cans of burning oil set to mark the way. Coupled with the dense jungle, trucks roaring out of nowhere and the screeching of animals, it was the perfect setting for a slasher film. And there was rain.

Anyway, made it to the cabañas, then carried on the next day to Chetumal, the little border town that could. Ate the Best. Steak. Ever. at an Uruguayan restaurant, where I resolved yet again to book a ticket to Montevideo posthaste. Next day, the Costa Maya (Mahahual and Xcalak), where very strange things are being built at an alarming pace.

By then I was back on schedule and got cocky. I figured I could drive down to Punta Allen (look it up on a map) and back in one day, although my very own guidebook sternly advises you not to do this…

(More to come.)