Take any architect, anywhere in the world, and place them on a wide stretch of white sand, large expanse of ocean and whispering palm trees, and the response is pavlovian - wooden huts spring up in their dozens, thatched roofs appear, hammocks swing gently and reggae wafts on the breeze. Tulum is no exception to this rule. Arriving, as I did, convinced I was at Death's door, I decided to put off finding a hammock on the beach and check into a hostel for the first couple of nights, until I was feeling better. I never left. The hostel (The Weary Traveller, much-championed by Lonely Planet and indeed weary travellers everywhere) was considerably more than I had been paying in Guatemala, but included huge breakfasts, dinner basics, free transport to and from the beach, and Rob
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