Bacalar: Feeling Alone in a Group & Finding Small Moments of Magic

Mar 14, 2025

When I agreed to travel to Bacalar with new friends I had met in Mexico, I thought it would be a refreshing change—not planning, not being responsible, just going with the flow.

After all, I’m usually the one hunting for the best deals, mapping out itineraries, and making sure every detail is covered. But I quickly realized that letting go of control is a complex exercise—especially when I found myself surrounded by a language I barely understood, lost in conversations I wasn’t a part of.

📍 Bacalar, Mexico | November 27, 2022

When I Tried to Let Go and Started Understanding Spanish

Yesterday, I traveled to Bacalar with a few friends I met here—a four-hour bus ride from Playa del Carmen. The plan was to meet up with another friend from Guatemala, so even before we left, they started a group chat to coordinate hotels and other details.

All in Spanish. I didn’t think much of it. This time, I allowed myself to let go.

Up until now, in every trip I’ve taken, I was always the planner—the one scouring the internet for the best deals, finding the cheapest flights, creating a detailed itinerary of what to do, where, and when. Everyone who joined me? They just showed up.

But this time, I was on vacation. I had a general idea of the place but planned absolutely nothing. The struggle started even before the trip when I tried to buy my bus ticket online. The website crashed at the exact same point every single time.

I finally went to the station in person (since it was close by), only to discover that tickets there cost twice as much as online. I kept trying until someone told me, “Yeah, that happened to me too. It’s because your browser is translating the page.”

I disabled the translation, and—boom—it worked.

Wild.

Looking back, I should have taken that as a sign from the universe: there would be no translation on this trip.

There were four of us, and the other three had lived together in Colombia for a while. So, naturally, every conversation was in Spanish.

They all spoke English—some better than others—but every time we had a conversation in English, within a minute, they slipped back into Spanish.

I’ve been living here for a while now, and usually, I understand most of what’s said to me in Spanish. But keeping up with conversations between native speakers? That was a whole different story.

So there I was, sitting at a bar with people around me—feeling completely alone.

Or maybe… that’s exactly what I wanted? It didn’t take long before I asked myself: What am I even doing here?

Originally, I had planned to come to Bacalar alone for just one night. Then, a friend told me that another friend of hers was coming from France, and they wanted to explore together. Why don’t you wait for us? she suggested. I thought, Sounds like a great idea! Because, after all, things are always better with people… right?

But for who? For me?

Maybe that depends on the people. The original plan was one or two nights in Bacalar. That quickly turned into three nights in Bacalar and an extra night in Tulum. That’s what happens when you let go. Wish me luck.

Hopefully, tomorrow’s post will actually be about the breathtaking place I’m in—because it truly is stunning.

📸 In the photo:
"Breakfast included at the hotel!" My first instinct? Yay!

But I’m in Mexico. I know better by now. A tortilla stuffed with potatoes, topped with a generous spread of refried beans, something white, and pickled onions. As for what I’m drinking? I wish I could call it coffee.

📍 Bacalar, Mexico | November 28, 2022

Kidnapped in Bacalar

I was kidnapped.

Yesterday, we visited some old fortress. I have no idea what its story was because all the explanations were in Spanish, and honestly, I had already run out of patience.

Our hotel was a short drive from the center, so we took a taxi—50 pesos per ride. We went to the supermarket, to restaurants, and every single peso was accounted for. They kept track of exactly how much each person spent, and every bill led to long, drawn-out calculations.

I’ve never liked that.

I suggested that we take turns paying and settle everything at the end—to make things easier. They didn’t like the idea.

One of them mentioned an app where you can log expenses, and it calculates everything for you at the end. Sounded amazing. I love organization. But the others weren’t into it. "Too complicated," they said.

We went to eat at a restaurant they had been talking about. A massive screen at the entrance displayed mouthwatering photos of insane burgers, hot dogs, milkshakes. I was salivating.

But I restrained myself— "Maybe I’ll get a salad this time? I can’t have burgers every day." (That’s one of the voices in my head that gets ignored the most.)

A falafel and hummus salad. Sounds delicious. And an iced coffee, please. The drinks arrived.

"This coffee tastes weird... Could the milk be spoiled?"
"You do know it’s not regular milk, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"It’s a vegan restaurant."

At that moment, my brain exploded. ARE YOU F*ING KIDDING ME?!**

Taking me to a vegan restaurant without telling me is the equivalent of kidnapping! I wanted to flip the table over and storm out. Yes, I’m being dramatic. Don’t mess with my food. By this point, I was barely speaking. Hardly saying a word.

Because when I did talk, either they’d respond to me in Spanish (which was awkward for all of us), or they’d make a great effort to switch to English, and I’d feel like a burden. And this was right after spending days in Playa del Carmen, where I met people I felt completely comfortable with. I talked nonstop.

It felt so natural and easy—just vibing with people and talking for hours. Maybe I should just go back to Playa? Something feels off here. I don’t feel comfortable.

But I don’t like making drama. I don’t want to ruin the trip for everyone else. Once again, I find myself people-pleasing. Feeling alone in a group isn’t new to me, but I don’t think that’s the issue here.

What bothers me more is that I feel dependent on them. And what bothers me most is that I feel fake. This place is stunning, and you’ll probably see smiling photos of me in my Instagram stories. Thank god for cameras.

Putting my personal experience aside—they’re fascinating people.

Both are from France. He’s 27, gay, used to act in theater, and now works for a human rights organization traveling the world.

She’s 30, the kind of woman who ties a scarf around her head and looks effortlessly stylish, working at a women’s shelter. She even brought a travel guidebook about Bacalar. From 2008.

We went on a boat tour—which was really nice. I was in my own world. They were in theirs. And then… We took a photo together, all hugging. How weird.

We got back to the hotel. I knew everyone just wanted to shower. I just wanted to let it all out. So I went outside, sat down, and started writing this frustrated post—waiting for my turn to shower.

An hour later, I walked back into the room. They went silent. I got in the shower. They put on music. And when I came out? They were completely different people.

Suddenly, they were speaking English the entire time. The vibe was lighter, funnier, warmer. I felt like I was part of the group. I felt comfortable talking.

We went out for dinner. Almost ended up at another vegan restaurant.
Almost fell for the trap again. But this time—I understood what they were saying. And they actually asked me what I wanted. Which meant—I could answer. How amazing is communication?

The night turned into one of laughter and fun, and thank god, I didn’t make a scene earlier.

📍 Bacalar, Mexico | November 29, 2022

Sunset And Pizza

Bacalar is a beautiful place, but I wouldn’t come back. I’m a big city girl, and the quiet here is too quiet for me. It’s a tiny town with not much to do. The main attraction is the lagoon—you can rent a kayak or paddleboard and go out on your own, or take a guided boat tour.

The boat tour is really nice—it stops at shallow spots, about a meter deep, so it feels like a small pool in the middle of the vast lagoon. You can hop off, snorkel, or just enjoy a beer you brought along.

There’s a central square with all the restaurants and bars. And that’s pretty much it. No crazy nightlife, not even that many people. I didn’t see stands selling tour packages—here, the taxi drivers are the tour agents. Every driver will offer to take you on a tour and say, “Save my number for next time.”

One morning, I woke up early to watch the sunrise. Though, early is relative—the sun rises here at 7:10 AM.

I wasn’t the only one drawn to the light—at the same stunning spot, a few others were waiting for the sun, too. It felt like we were appreciating the universe together. That same feeling as in a museum—just standing there, admiring something breathtaking.

We visited a place called Los Rápidos (literally, “The Rapids”), a narrow stretch of the lagoon where the water flows fast. You can rent a kayak or just float down the lagoon with a life vest, letting the current carry you. It was so much fun.

That evening, we went to an Italian restaurant. A bottle of white wine and a variety of pizzas made the night perfect. Pizza is my absolute favorite food.

When I looked at the menu, something unusual caught my eye—pear, goat cheese, and caramelized walnut pizza. One of the most insane things I’ve ever eaten. The perfect bite. Just incredible. There’s something so exciting about discovering new flavors in something so familiar. A true delight.

When I was little, growing up with my whole family in Rishon LeZion, we had a beautiful tradition—ordering pizza every Saturday night. There was a small pizzeria in our neighborhood, which, coincidentally, made the best pizza in the world.

I lived for Saturday nights—not just because of the amazing pizza, but because it brought us together as a family. We’d sit down, eat together, watch TV, talk, laugh. It’s such a special memory from my childhood. Today, it feels like a completely different life.

Three days in Bacalar taught me things about myself that I never would have learned in a big city. I discovered that true loneliness isn’t being alone—it’s being surrounded by people who don’t truly understand you.

And that a childhood memory of family pizza night can feel like home in the middle of a foreign place. And in the end, maybe that’s exactly what I needed to learn—not to fall in love with every place, but to better understand what actually works for me.