Plans Gone Awry in Mexico: An Unexpected Journey in Holbox and Mexico City

Mar 14, 2025

I’ve always been drawn to planning—making lists, researching online, downloading apps, booking everything in advance. But my journey through Mexico taught me a deeper lesson: sometimes, the universe challenges our neatly mapped-out plans. Here are four snippets from my travel journal, showcasing two completely different places where I learned the same lesson.

📍 Holbox Island, Mexico | December 18, 2022

The Island I Kept Putting Off Until the Last Minute

Yesterday, I finally made it to Holbox. It was one of those places I had to check off my list—after all, I had heard so many recommendations that I felt like I’d already been there. Everyone told me to visit on a weekend, so I kept postponing it.

At the beginning of my trip, I booked a relatively cheap night there, but the day before, I checked the forecast and saw that the rest of the week was supposed to be super rainy. Holbox is a tiny island, and when it rains, everything turns to mud—not exactly the Caribbean paradise I had in mind. So, I canceled and decided to stay in Playa del Carmen instead.

Now, if there’s one golden rule about the Caribbean, it’s never trust the weather forecast. But I was still at the start of my trip and thought I’d have plenty of time to visit properly. Fast forward to this weekend—my last chance to go. I always leave things to the last minute.

This time, I booked two nights. I checked the forecast again—rain again. Cancel again? Nope, not this time. I grabbed my Blundstones and decided that if it was going to be muddy, so be it.

I woke up early and set off. And when I say early, I mean 7:30 AM. I left the house around 8, but it felt like 5 AM. The whole city was quiet. No street vendors, barely any people—just a few stragglers heading home from their night out. It wasn’t even hot yet; the city was still asleep.

I hopped on a bus for a two-hour ride to Chiquilá, then took the ferry to the island. I wandered through the narrow streets and finally made it to the beach. Shallow turquoise waters, white sand, and a sky full of birds of every kind. Holbox is a nature reserve, so on the boat ride over, they played a short instructional video on how to preserve the environment and minimize disturbance to the wildlife.

The island is full of couples—maybe something about the place just lends itself to romance. Or maybe that’s why solo travelers tend to gravitate toward bigger cities. Everyone seemed to be in full “island mode,” disconnected from the rest of the world, both mentally and physically.

I debated whether to fully embrace “vacation mode” or just relax by the beach. I took a few steps forward and saw a massive sign: 2-for-1 cocktails. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.

Later that evening, I wandered through the streets until I reached the island’s central square—the place where everything happens. I chatted with some locals who told me this was the thing to do here. It’s basically a “see you at the square” kind of vibe. Everyone gathers, listens to music, drinks, and smokes a lot of weed. The smell fills the streets, and the police? They couldn’t care less.

I had assumed Holbox would be cheap, but turns out it’s super expensive—prices here are at least 150% higher than in Playa or Cancún. There are no real roads, so transportation is all off-road vehicles, including the taxis. Somehow, there are even motorcycles—I have no idea how they manage to get around on the muddy paths, but respect.

Oh, and about that forecast? Not a drop of rain in sight. 🤞

📍 Holbox Island, Mexico | December 19, 2022

How I Discovered That Sometimes It Pays to Be Israeli

Yesterday, I went on the classic Three Islands Tour—pretty much a must-do here. A guy picked me up on a motorcycle. Helmets? Haha, why would we need those? Hold on, let me just activate my travel insurance real quick.
"Don’t worry, it’s close by," he reassured me.
I once heard in a public service announcement: Most accidents happen close to home.
But hey, we made it in one piece.

Our group was made up of ten people, including a lovely Israeli couple.
“How much did you pay for the tour?” they immediately asked.
Ah, Israelis—we love talking about money.

They had two weeks left in their trip, so I gave them all the advice I could:
You have to go there. You absolutely must buy this.
This tour agency is expensive—always negotiate, for everything. Learn how to use colectivos. And always double-check the bill at restaurants.

“Yeah, they charge 20% tip here without even asking and just add it to the bill!”
“Yep, that’s the Mexican way. But you can refuse, just say no.”

They looked at me, utterly shocked—the face of an Israeli who just realized they got ripped off. There’s no worse feeling.

I thought about how much I love helping people and how lucky they were to have run into me.

Back to the tour. We arrived at Bird Island, though we didn’t see much—probably because it was their siesta time. But we did smell them. Bird poop. Everywhere. Truly an experience.

We couldn’t get too close to the flamingos, so we took photos from a distance. Later, we reached another island with a beautiful cenote—finally, some clear, cool water. Most of the ocean around Holbox is green because of the seaweed. Our guide explained that there isn’t enough circulation in this part of the sea—it’s like a giant bay.

That evening, it rained for about an hour, and suddenly, the island turned chilly. Turns out that after it rains, there’s no cell service on the island.

This morning, I woke up early to watch the big final. Here, it started at 10 AM—perfect for an exciting breakfast. What an absolute privilege to witness such an intense game, exactly the kind of final we all needed.

The island was packed with Argentinians, their celebrations echoing through every corner. The excitement was contagious, their smiles completely infectious.

What a time to be alive.

📍 Mexico City, Mexico | December 11, 2022

How a Two-Hour Flight Turned Into the Longest Day of My Life

After much debate, I bought a ticket to see the hottest artist in Latin America right now—Bad Bunny. He’s number one on every playlist, probably number two, three, and four as well. His songs play everywhere, all the time, and me? I’m obsessed.

The concert was at a massive stadium in Mexico City, with almost 100,000 seats. I picked a good spot in the middle and said goodbye to 330 USD. But not before making sure I had a flight from Cancún to Mexico City, a bus from Playa del Carmen to the airport, and a hotel for the night—all for another 120 USD.

I figured that realistically, I probably wouldn’t get another chance to see an artist I love this much, at the peak of his career, while I just so happened to be a two-hour flight away.

But in reality? My day started as a nightmare, continued as a nightmare, and ended as a nightmare. So the most accurate term would be: one long, never-ending nightmare.

After three hours of sleep, I woke up at 3 AM to catch a 4 AM bus. I wasn’t exactly hungover, but I felt off. I endured the torturous hour of watching whatever-the-hell they were playing on the bus and arrived early at the airport—because if there’s anyone terrified of missing a flight, it’s me.

The flight was delayed by almost two hours. Normally, this is when I’d take it as a sign from the universe, but I was too excited about the concert to overthink it.

The flight itself was horrendous—I couldn’t sleep at all, and the one person whose phone started ringing mid-air (how is that even possible?!) was sitting right next to me. Oh, and apparently, everyone on board had a cough, so out of sheer solidarity, I started coughing too. Hello, COVID.

I took a bus downtown, where they blasted a movie at painfully high decibels—this time, the live-action remake of Dumbo, which was already a nightmare in itself because they completely butchered the film. Why take a perfectly good animated movie and turn it into an hour of horrific elephant grunts?!

The part that nearly made me cry—not out of emotion, but out of pure frustration—was their absolute massacre of the legendary Pink Elephants on Parade scene. One of the greatest moments in animation history, reduced to... this.

The concert was set to start at 7:00 PM, but the website said doors opened at 1:00 PM. My plan was to explore downtown for a bit, but by the time I landed, it was already 2:30 PM, and with Mexico City traffic, getting to the stadium would take another two hours.

As a newbie to massive stadium events, I wanted to arrive early. So, I skipped my much-needed nap and headed straight there.

This time, enough. I was taking a taxi.

I found the central taxi station, bought a ticket (yes, like for a bus), and optimistically joined a not-too-long line. I waited for 45 minutes that felt like an eternity, especially with my eyes barely staying open. The driver was probably 200 years old, and I saw this as my golden opportunity to get some sleep.

When I arrived at the stadium, the whole place was buzzing—merchandise stalls, food vendors, drinks, music. Finally, the festival vibe I had been waiting for!

People were already lining up, and I started to panic because my ticket was supposed to arrive via FedEx registered mail, and, well... it never did. I prayed they would accept my email confirmation because, hello, it’s the 21st century—why on earth should I be dependent on a piece of paper?!

By 6:00 PM, the doors still weren’t open. What’s going on?

I glanced at the phone of the guy standing next to me and realized that my clock was an hour ahead. It was actually 5:00 PM. Today’s timeline was completely wrecked.

They finally opened the gates, and I approached the ticket scanner. The attendant looked at my email and said, "I can’t accept this. We need a barcode."

Okay... so is there someone here who can help me? A ticket office? Customer service?

Nope. Just barcode scanners.

I tried contacting the agency I bought the ticket from. No answer.
Tried FedEx. No answer.
No mom. No dad. Barely even internet.

Is there a chance I made it all the way here and won’t even get in?!

I stuck around, noticing others getting rejected at the entrance as well. Maybe I could talk to them and figure something out?

But—no one spoke English. Absolutely no one.

I tried to piece together what was happening, but truthfully? Nobody understood what was going on.

As the hours passed, a huge crowd gathered outside—the rejected ones. I listened to furious conversations, realizing that even people with barcodes were being denied entry. The agency wasn’t answering anyone.

And just like that, thousands of us were stuck outside while the concert started inside. People had flown in just for this. Booked hotels. Spent so much money and energy getting here—only to be locked out. And I was one of them.

Exhaustion finally won. I dragged myself to my hotel, desperate for sleep. But the second my head hit the pillow?

BOOM.

A full-blown mariachi band started playing right outside my window.

At that moment, I think I hated all of Mexico.

I thought, I’m so exhausted, I don’t even care anymore.

If only.

I tossed and turned, boiling with frustration, until finally, I stormed downstairs, half in tears, and begged—no, demanded—that they shut it off.

I just wanted to sleep.

📍 Mexico City, Mexico | December 12, 2022

The Big City Everyone Talks About in Terms of ‘Safety’

So… Mexico City.

Downtown reminds me a lot of Europe—I’d even go as far as saying Barcelona. Something about the old buildings, the unique street lamps, the different sculptures, the shops, and the overall vibe feels completely different from anything I’ve seen in Mexico so far.

I considered joining a guided tour, but who needs a guide when you have Google?

I started my day with an amazing breakfast. Following Google’s recommendations, I found a great spot—the long line outside confirmed I was in the right place.
“Hey, I’m just one person.”
“Perfect! I’ve got a seat for you at the bar.”
Yes.

Where to now?

I find it weird to walk around without a plan—it feels inefficient. All I could hear in my head was my dad’s favorite quote from Alice in Wonderland:
"If you don’t care where you’re going, then it doesn’t matter which way you go."

Alright, I’ll head downtown and figure it out from there.

I arrived at endlessly crowded streets, lined with never-ending market stalls. At first, it was exciting. Then, it started to feel like an inescapable maze. No matter where I turned, I was trapped in a labyrinth of markets.

The moment I approached a stall, a guy practically pounced on me with an umbrella—God forbid I get sunburned while shopping at his stand.

The market stalls and stores were arranged by theme, and they had everything. A whole section for cosmetics, another for music stores, a Christmas market, and pretty much anything you could think of.

Then I remembered—The World Cup! Time to find a cool bar to watch it.

In this case, no recommendations needed. I just checked Google Maps for the bar street—every city has one. Turned out it was nearby, so I picked a random bar and had a beer for 1.5 USD.

Everything is cheaper in Mexico City, but public bathrooms cost seven pesos. That doesn’t mean they’re clean—it just means they’re your only option.

A lot of people wear masks here—not just because of COVID. In some areas, there’s a noticeable gas smell in the air. People say the pollution levels here are insanely high.

And then, there’s the safety talk.

"Order a taxi through an app—it’s safer."
"Stick to these areas—they’re safer."

Walking around a place where everything is framed in terms of safety? Not exactly reassuring. I started feeling anxious just because of that word.

It definitely cast a shadow over my experience, even though logically, I had no reason to feel unsafe. There were tons of people around, police officers on every corner.

Mexico City is stunning—wide sidewalks, much cleaner than I expected. But of course, that’s only in the “safe” areas.

Mexico taught me that no matter how much I planned, the real experience was in the unexpected twists—both the good and the bad.

My fear of rain in Holbox was completely unnecessary. My huge anticipation for the concert in Mexico City turned into a massive disappointment.

No matter how much I want to be in control, life will probably always find a way to make me lose it.

And maybe that’s okay.