It seems to be a reoccurring theme in our travels – every summer since we hit the road in 2010, we found ourselves in a hurricane. Two years ago we were on the little island of Ambergris Caye off the coast of Belize and just as we arrived, we were informed that there was a hurricane on the way. Our first day and a half on the island were spent watching locals board up and talking about the ferry services that had been suspended. After all the hype, luckily, Matthew had been downgraded to a tropical depression by the time it hit Belize, and we waited it out in our hotel room. Last year on our road trip from New York to New Orleans, hurricane Irene forced us to make a huge detour through the Blue Ridge Mountains instead of driving down the coast of North Carolina. How else would we have discovered Asheville, a town we really loved?
This year we found ourselves in our little beach house on Mexico’s Caribbean coast and the warnings around then-Tropical Storm Ernesto indicated that it would turn into a hurricane right as the storm hit exactly our sleepy little middle of nowhere town. We boarded up the house, packed our bags and the dog and left – just as the first frightening thunderstorms, forerunners of Ernesto, arrived. Five hours later we pulled into Playa Del Carmen, and even here, 200 miles north, the powerful storm and rains whipped through the streets.
We have heard that our house has survived just fine, so we’re heading back south tomorrow after two (not unwelcome) days back ‘in civilization’ – with unlimited high-speed internet, hot showers, air-conditioning, good coffee and ice cream. We have three weeks left in Mexico, but hopefully we have met our hurricane quota for 2012!
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